


Give Me Wings

by NothingSnow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Concept Mercy is named Markus here, F/M, Hog being a bodyguard, Light Flirting, Slow Burn, Some slight mutant/monsterfucking mood, assault mention, gritty mercy, its a lawless wasteland what do you expect, pov will shift as this is a compilation of an old RP with a good friend of mine, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSnow/pseuds/NothingSnow
Summary: Angela Ziegler's work is renowned around the world. This is a canon divergent work-- in which Angela's medical team spread out-- serving in the Middle East, India, parts of Africa, and onward to Australia. Though, Australia certainly isn't a cakewalk-- and when a promising young intern is kidnapped for a ransom far too high for the medic to afford, she'll have to take action of her own!





	1. Intern

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic that is a compilation of a roleplay between a good friend of mine and me. As such the POV may switch around a bit.

The disaster that shook Australia was one that the world ultimately had no other choice but to ignore. An omnium collapse was certainly a mess to clean up in and of itself— however, at the height of the crises, every nation had to fend for itself. Much of the world was destroyed— a cataclysmic event that could only be described as humanic genocide and a near-extinction of the human race. Governments and military forces fell, the people themselves coming to terms with their own means of survival. But then, most of the world managed to survive— just barely. Fractions of the human race remained, picking up the pieces and working to rebuild what they had had before. Overwatch had been born, and then it died in its prime, like countless unnamed soldiers during the crisis that Overwatch helped reel in to an end.    
  
The little family that Overwatch had become scattered to the winds, and that included a certain little medical team. Angela Ziegler, world renowned for her work and funding toward humanitarian efforts worldwide, she was the face of healing and moving forward. She had felt terrible not having the resources during the crises to spare for the people of Australia— the medic having kept an eye on the efforts worldwide, and when she could, she’d sent supplies to that now-barren continent on the other side of the world. Water, high-protein meal packs, basic medical supplies, even clothing once or twice. Each emblazoned with the Overwatch insignia and Dr. Ziegler’s signature on the shipment to the aid station. But as the PETRAS act came into play, Angela Ziegler certainly would sit on her hands no longer. Half of her team split to work in the Middle East, and the other half, including Angela herself, moved to work in the now war-torn wasteland that Australia had become.   
A few months in to their work, the team of four traveled often— erecting a medical tent community with each passing week or so. A supply chain of relief workers followed in their wake— training the people of the wastes to be their own medical staff. Permanent clinics were built, staff brought in and trained to operate the facility just as efficiently as the medic and her team themselves. Each community of survivors the group visited, life became a little less bleak. Clinics built, schools erected, even an orphanage was finished,  not unlike the one Dr. Ziegler herself had grown up in. Water purifiers were constructed— all on the wallet of Angela and her own medical foundation backed by various beneficiaries worldwide.   
Most of the people traded for their medical services, people understandably confused by the concept of humanitarian aid— one man even swearing to protect the clinic that his wife had successfully given birth in. Many of the payments included labor of that sort— some of the clinics soon had full staff of caretakers— carpenters, repairmen, and security all in one. But, people were squirrelly and nervous, and had every right to be. The team certainly had their efforts quashed on more than one occasion— Australia was a lawless, radioactive world in and of itself— isolated and forgotten. The team often stared down the barrels of various guns, both pre-war relics and homemade rifles, yet held their heads high in the nerve-wracking state of an old fashioned stickup. None moreso held themselves with grace than Angela herself. She knew their worth— these people couldn’t afford to kill any of them. Other than that, the medic and her team had very little idea of how society here worked.

Junkers were nothing less than the distillate of the will to survive. They were stubborn, they were quick to anger, slow to forgive, untrusting, and they weren’t about to change how they lived on someone else’s say-so. Most Junkers had more than a fair share of animus towards the “sooks”, the people who lived near the wall desperate for aid or, even better, a way out. Getting through the Wall was as hard as an immigration hearing, even though the Northern Territories was still legally part of Australia proper.   
  
Junkers, though, proper Junkers weren’t going to go through that door just because those omnic-apologist southie fucks held it open. When they left the Outback, it was going to be because they kicked the fucking door down. If it had to be them versus the world, then so be it. They survived the bots, they survived the ADF’s displacement squads, they’d survive whatever else this soft world had to dish out. That was what they did, and few did it better.   
  
Now and again, proper Junkers would sail through. It wasn’t often; Dr. Ziegler’s little village couldn’t be too far away from the wall. That would be putting her staff at tremendous risk, encroaching on the heartlands, where the clans and gangs held powerful sway. Even so, they’d get sniffed from time to time. Some of them had been born after the Civil War, and this was the only life they knew. Seeing this slice of the way things had been made them feel very conflicted. Certainly, more than a few were tempted. Those who were tempted were probably also the ones who put bullets through the windows, or stole crates of supplies that weren’t properly secured.   
That was the general understanding. Anything you did not secure would go missing. The feral gleam of their eyes in the dark, peering into their gentle, charitable little lives, looking for that one moment of weakness they could exploit. These scavengers, these opportunists, however, were the least of what the Outback could unleash on Dr. Ziegler’s fragile peace.   
  
Angela herself was fiercely loyal and protective of her team and her patients— and didn’t hesitate to draw a weapon in return if it came down to it. Though, her little sidearm was not very threatening in comparison to some of the firepower that the survivors toted. She, and her little team, proved that they were just as capable as taking lives as much as they saved them.    
  
Today was just like any other— Angela had woken up before dawn, had a cup of instant coffee with the rest of the team, and together they’d resumed their work with the people of one of the smaller settlements in the wastes.

Angelo Gebara was a promising young med student, who must’ve reminded Dr. Ziegler a little of herself. He knew the folly of how desperately he wanted to save the world, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He could have fast-tracked his way to a kooshy fellowship, but delayed becoming a fellow in favor of the opportunity to work under Our Lady of Mercy. Dr. Angela Ziegler might not have been a fan of the media attention her Overwatch years earned her, but it provided a common banner for like-minded individuals to rally under. Good medicine and patient, judgement-free support went a long way towards bringing peace to the Outback.   
  
To the Smoke clan, though, it was just another weakness to exploit.   
  
There wasn’t even a sign of a struggle. Just a scattering of old polaroids of Gebara, taken from above, with the photographer lying next to him. Gebara was gagged and bound, like a cocoon. He was staring into the camera with squinting eyes, frightened, but also furious, ashamed. He’d let her down. She could read it on every picture of his face. The Junker lay there, taking pictures of the two of them together, then left in the night, without a soul hearing it. There weren’t even tire tracks.   
The Junker was all wrapped up in a wrap of navy blue, with bulky, armor shapes under the tatty old fabric. What skin could be seen was very pale; here was a gentleman who did not often see the sun. A pair of flight goggles was shoved up onto his forehead, with salt-and-pepper hair sticking out of the wrapping about his head, in places. There was a breather mask around his neck, leaving his mouth exposed. His teeth had been dyed black by a narcotic drink called Mud that some Junkers enjoyed.   
  
The note was tacked above the bed.    
_ “Follows is the latitude and longitude of where we would like our drop. Also to follow is everything we require of your medical organization. We will keep your boy until our demands are met. Free medicine, or free doctor. You decide.” _   


Angela was angry. One of the medics had found the note, bringing it to their ‘leader’ while she braced herself on the counter. Brows furrowed, mouth twisted into a furious little grimace while she set the mug of coffee down perhaps a tad louder than she’d wanted to. Though like a burning stew, the anger in her gut bubbled forth-- rancid and foul and black. She read the ‘list’ of things that these people needed. It seemed like such a hodge-lodge list; not to mention, she would have helped them to her best ability had they gone the correct route, and walked through the damn clinic doors. That would have been the easier thing to do. The sane thing.

_But this wasn’t a sane place._

“What will we do, Dr. Ziegler? We have never gone that far beyond the wall.” The medic’s fellow practitioner—a nervous little woman by the name of Anika— questioned, twiddling her fingers anxiously. “We’re stretched thin as it is. This is a long list of things— some of these I doubt we have. And the date is so soon! Not enough time for a requisition shipment!”

Angela read over the list again, that same anger making her lip curl up in disgust at the accepted knowledge of that. “We will simply bring what we can. Supplies can be replaced. Lives cannot. As it stands... We have about sixty percent of what is on the list here on-hand.” She said simply, shaking her head and taking a long breath in, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “I will go with this ‘drop,’ and ensure Angelo’s safety.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect—“ Another medic started-- this one by the name of Andreas. His brow furrowed at her, shaking his head.

“No, no. You are right. I should not go alone. But we need to keep the clinic open.”

“Don’t make that deal, Angela.” A deeper voice spoke up from the doorway, the younger medic sipping from his mug of coffee with that usual stern look on his face. She couldn’t help but look up at him, giving a huff at her ‘younger brother.’

 _“Markus…”_ She warned, standing up tall to look the darker skinned medic in the eye.

A cock of his brow at her glare of protest before he continued. “You full well know that they’ll just try and ransom you for more. And more is _not_ something we have. You shouldn’t even go. _Don’t be stupid_.”

“I agree with Doctor Schröder, Doctor Ziegler. It’s far too dangerous.” Anika spoke up, her little hands pressed together in worry.

“Bring nothing. Or, better yet, _poison them_ so that they don’t do this to other hapless people. Even better? _Don’t go_.” Markus shrugged, nonchalant as usual.

 _“Markus!”_ Angela huffed, shooting the younger medic a glare. To which he only put up his palm in a mock surrender.

“Jawohl, Jawohl, I know. But this...” Markus started again, trying to gesture at the room around them.

“Natürlich, Markus.” Angela nodded, still glaring at him for a moment before taking another deep breath and rereading the haphazard note once again. “You all are right, though. We cannot spare this much. I will take one of the hover bikes and meet them, at least. If they need medical care, I will give it to them, there.”

“Keep your communicator, and you let us know if something arises. I will contact the Wall.” Markus tilted his head up, knowing just how stubborn his ‘sister’ was. “You’re still being stupid, you know.”

“Ja, ja, ja.” She huffed, moving to her desk to at least grab a box of her usual medical supplies. Her staff was strapped to her back-- folded and powered down. The bikes were small, and designed for speed— useful for medical practitioners to get to where they needed to be, where a formal ambulance would have been stolen in less than a day. A few quick ‘good luck’’s and ‘be safe’’s, and affectionate hugs later, and she set out. She left that evening— headlights low so as to pass through unsafe territory far less conspicuously. She would at least go to meet them-- she had to ensure her intern was _safe._


	2. Savior

Angela personally hated motorcycles— she had cleaned up far too many motorcycle accidents to ever appreciate the appeal of them— and so she’d made sure that she remembered her helmet. Commander Morrison had had a motorcycle, and Jesse eluded to having one stashed away somewhere. She’d thought that it had been an American thing, but since she’d come to Australia she’d come to at least understand the use of them. They were cheap, and when taken care of, certainly got you where you needed to go.

It took almost an hour for her to travel, the little hoverbike reliable and speedy, save for her no-headlights. Thankfully, it had been a clear night-- the moon in the sky was all the light she needed, really.

The little medic arrived to the meeting point without much to say about the trip-- save for the fact that she broke well over 200 km/hr to get to where she needed to be. The location was rather plain-- one of the many ruins in the wastes as her GPS gave a triumphant little  _ ding! _ at the arrival. It was dark, and she couldn’t see the glow of the Wall on the horizon-- which certainly gave her cause for concern. Though, above, the sky was clear, and filled with stars-- far more than she would have seen in Switzerland. 

She looked up for a moment, sparing just a second to take in the milky way, taking a deep breath before glancing down to the illuminated watch on her wrist. She was on time, and as she stepped off her bike, she pulled the helmet off to look around. The bag on the hoverbike was unstrapped and hoisted onto her back, the light of the motorcycle flipping on to at least give her  _ some _ light to work with.

The buildings are all nearly collapsed, each one a silhouette in the darkness. This certainly was framed to be a  _ trap _ . Had she had the people to spare, she wouldn’t have come alone. Her anxiety began to tighten in her chest, perhaps better known as her ‘fight or flight’ response, before she put her boot down and took a deep breath in-- finally calling out into the dark.

_ “I know you are here.”   _ Her voice was almost sweet-sounding, like birds, in comparison to the harshness of the land around her. 

“ _ Now you do. _ ” A voice spoke from a remarkably short distance behind her. As acute as her senses were, she could hear, alongside that voice, the sound of shifting sand and earth. By the time she had whipped around, the Outback gilly tarp the man had been hiding under was near completely sloughed off. There was that shade of navy blue that the other had been wearing. They wrapped themselves in it. Even right in front of her, it made him difficult to see, even exposed to the light. His goggles gave no glare, and all the gear he wore was smudged with black paint. “You didn’t, before. Not really.” That twangy Junker accent was strong, giving a contrastingly friendly sound to his menacing words. “Whistlin’ in the dark, yeah?”

“Call it a hunch,  _ gentlemen _ . I knew you were there.” If these ruffians aimed to irk Angela, she certainly was not. At least, not outwardly. She’d spun on her heel at the voice, hands falling to her hip and at the blaster strapped there-- but halting just before her fingertips touched the weapon. Big blue eyes scanned near-frantically over the enemies as they made themselves known. Her gaze was sharp, body language tense and the only giveaway to her discomfort as she straightened in a formal fashion.    
  
Rustling, crunching, a step here or there; they were almost inaudible as they took some cue from their leader. Almost a dozen men were rising from incredibly cunning hiding places. Seasoned as she was, this was just not the type of combatant she’d fought. They had crossbows, knives, only a few actual rifles. Most of their kit was for being undetected until it suited them. “You see what we make them outta? Emergency blankets. Even IR can’t find us. We breathe into the dirt, so they couldn’t even detect our CO2.  _ Oh, they wanted to. _ ”   
He turned his back to her, looking with a smug self-assurance to his brothers in arms. “But they fuckin’ din’t. Oh, they’d say shit like that. Try’n  _ spook  _ us.” He laughed cooly, turning to her, yanking aside his wraps and exposing his face. This was not the man who’d taken Angelo. Different features, fewer scars. Younger. “But you must be  _ Dr. Ziegler. _ ” The man held up Angelo’s phone-- to which the medic’s face blanched at the sight of it. He obviously wasn’t present at the location-- meaning that they either didn’t expect her to give in to the ransom, or they were going to take the goods and _ run.  _  “Certainly written his fair share about you. Quite the impression you made on young Angelo. He’s ... hang on, here, lemme pull up a good one.” He thumbed through the phone for a moment. “Sorry, not bloody used t’these fuckin’ things, am I? Here we are.” He cleared his throat, squinting in the light of the device. “She doesn’t sit back and watch it on the news. She’s there. The woman has no empty words. Maybe it’s collegiate naivete, but if this woman had the resources, I think she could, and would, save the world. I could do no less than my part.” They spoke as if her little intern was alive, so it was the best she could do to hang on to that belief. Though, the words that the boy had written about her both made her heart swell and shatter. Like an older sister-- it was like she was working with Markus all over again.    
“That’s so sweet!” One of the Smoke boys crooned teasingly. “Save the fuckin’ world, even!”   
“Don’t I know it!” The leader snorted, then looked Angela right in the eye, taking a step forward. Suddenly, he was serious. “Did you think being former Overwatch was just going to show us the error of our ways?” He took on a dramatic, woeful tone. “Oh, we poor, forgotten Junkers, we’ll do fair dinkum, how could we have been so blind?!”

She let him speak, and even make a step toward her, her gaze narrowing in the headlights of her bike. A corner of her mouth curled up, a dimple forming on her cheek as she couldn’t help but smirk at her own little plan.

He dropped the affect, rolling his eyes. “Overwatch doesn’t mean  _ piss _ out here. It wasn’t the army won the war here, wasn’t Overwatch. It was  _ us _ . And  _ you? _ ” He took another step towards her. “You’re just  _ too little, too late _ . Goes double for that fuckin’ bike a’ yours that couldn’t POSSIBLY have what we fuckin’ said to bring. Too little, so too late for Angelo. Don’t worry. He’ll still get his chance to save the world. We could use a doctorin’ type, anyhow. You want him back, price is double what we asked for.”   


“That list you gave was  _ preposterous _ to begin with, and  _ you know it _ . I may be supplied, but not as well as you might think,  _ gentlemen _ .” She puffed up her chest, taking her own fearless step toward the presumed leader. “My clinics and relief stations are open for any and all to receive their own care. Next time I advise you simply walk through the front door instead of barging in like a bunch of barbarians. I came to assure that my intern was safe.  _ Schlappschwanzen _ . ”She jabbed a finger toward him, that smirk curving into a scowl. A deep breath, before she continued, straightening.

“If you expect Angelo to practice medicine without any supplies, you are mistaken. I am fully equipped, while he is not. I will not give you that laundry list of things you so politely requested.” She paused, standing tall. “I offer something  _ far greater _ in value. Release him, and I will be your ‘doctoring type’ all you want.” She hissed, taking another step forward-- fearlessly coming to stand directly in front of the leader who’d snuck up on her before. She stood proudly, though the Australian in front of her naturally stood taller. The people on this continent were large, in comparison, she’d noted early on in her stay there. Though, being smaller than her patients was not new-- just look at Reinhardt, and even Winston. Both Jack, and Gabriel. She would dutifully serve as their doctor, sure-- or perhaps, she would simply ekk out an escape once Angelo was safe. 

“Boss Smoke, he wants to edge the Bokor out of narcotics, get a seat at the  _ Queen’s _ table. We tried buyin’ off some a’ your workers, but they wan’t havin’ it. You put a bloody  _ hospital _ together overnight, we  _ know _ you can find the stuff we need. You think you’re the first git got her mind set on playin’ Jesus for the sookies? We got more a’ this doctorin’ bullshit than we know what to do with. Pseudoephedrin, lithium? That, you can get in BULK, and that’s what we got the least of. Opiods, pain killers. Shit that can get us to the top. And don’t tell me you can’t. Some a’ those fuckin’ sookies you been ministerin’ been workin’ for us. They know what you lot got access to.” He started, but she simply smiled and shook her head. 

“I have technology at my disposal that not even my interns, nor my staff know how to use, let alone replicate.” She leaned on one leg, taking a step back and pulling the folded staff from her back. With a scan of her fingerprint, the device booted up and unfolded with a burst of gold light-- glittering in the dark. A quick twirl, and the gold followed the spinning caduceus end of the staff-- before she planted it into the sand in front of her. As the butt of the staff met the ground, another burst of light erupted forth-- all a show that she hoped would ebb them over. 

She made her proposal. She made it with golden light, as if heaven sent. She had his attention. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape, showing that same unsightly Mud-mouth as the other. “Your boy ... in his phone, said you could do things.  _ Impossible things. _ Thought it was ... exaggeration.  _ Hero worship. _ ” The other Smoke boys were glancing amidst each other. It was possible, of course, that this was just some fancy light-show to dazzle the savages, but their uncertainty was clear enough. The leader yanked the glove off his left hand, then pulled a no-frills little combat knife.  _ “Show me.” _ He demanded, cutting across the heel of his palm. He stuck the bleeding hand out at her-- the blood dripping freely into the dust and sand at their feet.

Angela sat unmoved for a moment— watching him hold that dirty, now bleeding, hand toward her as if the mere thought of healing it gave her pause. As if it  _ disgusted _ her. After a moment, though, she tilted her staff forward— the device seeking a friendly programmed target before she overrode its protocols with a swish of a hand across one of the control pads near the top. A feature she had made sure to install in an event not unlike this. Perhaps a scenario closer akin to that of a battlefield, where her  _ real expertise _ came in to play. But, close enough. That heavenly light erupted forth from the spinning end of the staff, the device now recognizing the black-toothed man, moreso his biometric signature, in front of her as someone _ friendly. _ That light flowed forth like water, locking on to his body and near enveloping him in it. 

He would have instantaneously felt warm— calm and serene like a child in a mother’s bosom. His pain would have faded, and before his very eyes, the wound flowed gold and closed itself up, as if it hadn’t been there to begin with. No stitches, no antiseptic, no warnings or risk of tetanus or infection. It was over in only a matter of a second, before she straightened the staff once again and let the device fall dark-- the light falling on her face and illuminating his grungy, dirt-covered, wonder-filled expression for a moment before it faded away. She knew that look. The leader looked down to his hand with quiet awe, hiking his goggles up on his forehead. There was a cruel child’s excitement on his face, as if he’d found some new toy. 

“If I go with you, I want a guarantee that my medics will not see your interference any further. That includes my intern.” She spoke quickly-- wanting to be heard over his excitement. At that, she put her other hand on her hip— her finger brushing past her communicator as she shifted her weight on her feet. “Do we have a  _ deal?” _

Turning to his group, he held up his hand. “Lookit me, boys!  _ I’m Mako FUCKIN Rutledge!” _ He laughed, a raspy, grating noise, and more than a few of the Smoke boys cheered on. They knew just as well what a power like this could mean for them. “That’s fuckin’ grouse, can you fuckin’ believe this? Power like that ... fuck a seat the table, we could take the bloody  _ BIG CHAIR _ .”

Her negotiating fell on unfortunately deaf ears, at first. The man calmed, smoothing his fingers over the now-undamaged skin. He laughed more quietly this time, though his excitement could still be heard in his breathing. “Now, see ... here you are, makin’ a deal, when you just handed in  _ all your chips _ . Hell of a gambler, Dr. Girly, I’ll give ya that, buuuut ... can’t win ‘em all, ken? We still got the boy, only now we got you, too.  _ You work for us, now. _ ” 

Angela’s face twisted, mouth curling into an angry scowl and the little woman’s body prickling and puffing in the anger that swelled forth. “What? _ Absolutely not! _ ” 

He made a circular motion over his head, ignoring her. “Let’s roll it up, boys. Shemp, you drive the bike. We’ll get some nice, new polaroids, drop ‘em off at the camp, see if we can’t get a little somethin’ somethin’ for havin’ this ballsy bint in our pocket.”

A flick of her wrist and the staff began to fold itself and power down, and in the same fluid motion she drew her pistol and trained it at the man’s head. A loud whirring noise, and the little blaster’s safety was off. “I am going nowhere with you until my intern is freed. Nor is my hoverbike, nor is my  _ staff. _ ” She hissed, the barrel of the blaster clicking and turning in its place as it superheated the molten shot in its chamber. 

Her communicator gave a  _ ding!  _ at her hip, a little sure sign that the signal she sent to Markus made it to its destination-- and a return message ensued. 

“I hold more cards than you think, sir.” She furrowed her brows, firing three shots in quick succession, point-blank range, into the man’s face. The first shot, Angela could both smell and hear his skin boiling and burning at the contact, peeling away from his skull like a slow cooked turkey leg-- the molten shot splashing about his face. No wonder Torbjörn always had the worse burns on his fingers, she thought, in passing. The second shot surely hit bone-- and any use of his eyes would have irreversibly gone, had she aimed to let him live. The third shot trained lower-- striking his neck, his skin melting away from his throat and his jugular and carotid arteries in a gush of boiling, bubbling blood. She fired one more shot, just to be sure-- and watched as he fell to the ground, gurgling and producing panicked sounds until… He didn’t. In a mere moment, she had proved the rumors right of her ability to take life just as easily as she was able to heal it.

A Hippocratic Oath meant  _ nothing  _ in a godless place like this. 

At that, she turned to the rest of the group, her other hand coming up to brace against the pistol after she tucked her folded staff at her belt. The medic was  _ done _ talking.

The shock of seeing one of these soft outsiders gun down their leader actually generated a moment of shock in the ordinarily reactive Smoke clan. She, the legendarily soft-hearted medic running the sookie farm down near the gates, brutally executed the man right where he stood, blowing him away without further hesitation, the arterial blood spurting and sizzling against the superheated remains of his maxilla bone. Whatever rumors there had been about Angela Ziegler’s combat prowess, it hadn’t reached the Junkers.

After that frozen moment, they descended on her, though being ambush predators, their only advantage was surrounding her. Which also meant they had each other in a potentially deadly crossfire. A crossbow bolt sailed past her. The shot was wild, but not by much, and from the sound of it, had it been two feet to the left, it would’ve gone through her skull. They began to shout at each other as they closed in, trying to both give each other orders and sort themselves at the same time. The medic was quick— instinctively shrugging away from that crossbow bolt as it sailed past her. It never went this way for the Smoke. No one ever caught them off guard. They hadn’t even bothered to tell her to disarm because they had been so confident a woman of her healer’s nature wouldn’t dream of being armed, let alone proficient with a deadly weapon. Certainly the outsiders hadn’t shown any interest in fighting back before. The Perimeter Guard never stepped in to help. Perimeter guard sounded pretty nice, right about now.

With machetes and batons, the close-range fighters rushed her. Four men, from the now eleven remaining. Others looked for their opening, but, again, they were used to leading when they danced, and Angela was doing the leading, tonight. Pistol raised, she fired toward the faces of each of the men that rushed her, before a baton came crashing down hard on her shoulder. Tendon reflex almost made her drop her pistol—mouth twisting into a teeth-bared grimace. A disgruntled growl— almost a roar in the chaos, and she brought her elbow up and back so crash against the man’s ear as he clamored to grapple her. She knew that she was not strong enough to overpower anyone present, and used her smaller size to her advantage. He made the instinctive mistake of releasing her, cupping at his ear— the medic swinging around to fire another point-blank charge into the man’s face. Flesh singed, and with one more shot, the man fell. 

Angela wasn’t a sharpshooter like Jesse McCree, but she had taken some pointers from the gunslinger on staying quick on her feet. Aside from the basic combat medic training she’d gone through, she wasn’t really much better off than a normal civilian noncombatant. 

In truth, her method was simple to predict. A shot to distract an assailant, then she got close to finish them off. But in the frantic, upheaved chaos, it went well enough. She managed to scrape out from the four of them that rushed her at first—the method of killing very similar between them all. More hits were made— a clip to her arm, the medic even having been tackled to the ground by one of them before she’d filled his guts with molten lead.

She let the rest scramble over one another, leaderless and upheaved from their high horses, diving from the center of them and giving herself any inkling of distance in the darkness, firing at their backs, their legs, and anywhere else that she could have fired upon to do damage— too filled with adrenaline to register any amount of pain in her body. Though, she was forced to pause as her blaster had to ‘reload;’ the barrel giving a hiss and a puff of steam as it twisted in place, regenerating it’s own ammunition. A glance at the remaining— several with their crossbows, one with a gun. She spared only a moment to look down at her pistol— that bracing hand coming off of the heated metal to let it do its thing, before a baton was brought across along her shin— her leg buckling as this bit of pain registered. Her knee hit the ground, and before she could react, the manic, injured wastelander had dived in on top of her. The pistol slipped from her fingers as they scuffled— the medic’s hands grasping for her folded staff while she fought his seeking hands at her throat. She swung once, twice, while he aimed to choke the fight out of her— her strikes aiming for his face while her head grew light. 

Her boot met his groin, and she shoved him off with a long leg, the muscles in her thighs straining against the weight, and ultimately succeeding with a choked growl. A gasp of air and the medic rolled over, scrambling for her pistol once more. Though, this time, she held back on killing him— panting as she looked at the remainder of her assailants as they backed up— seemingly fearful of the little fiery medic. 

The woman was grace under fire, personified. There had been a hard past under the veneer of this saintly life. In her was nothing less than the will to survive, to keep fighting. The Smoke boys would have been corpses, but for the unfortunate aim of her violence. She wiped out the only reasons the Smoke had to keep from firing their combat rifles. With the last one dead, crossbows and rifles alike were shouldered. The defacto leader who’d risen in the chaos lifted his voice in a hoarse screech. “KILL THE CUNT!”

And so, breathless and banged up, she scrambled to her feet, despite the protesting of her leg. A clear of her throat, and ignoring the side of her face that pulsed hotly as if she’d been struck there. 

_ “Where is my intern?” _

At that, she winced as a crossbow bolt found its mark— the projectile embedding itself in her shoulder-- to which her body lurched back, the medic letting out a cry as she fell back onto her knees, catching herself from falling prone.

Amidst their violence, it had been almost inaudible. A heavy thumping gait accompanied by a rattle of metal links. Heavy, but steady, and fast approaching.

“Fuckin’ winged her, rush the bitch!” The surviving crossbowman shouted. “We can still take her alive!

The new leader was having none of that. He looked to the shooters, yanking the bandages from his mouth as if to make himself easier to hear. His mouth opened so wide amidst his shrill orders it looked like his jaw might unhinge. “Fuck that! Put her down! Put the bitch-” It was like a meteor; a crimson, glowing ball struck the man in the face. Scrap hardware, glowing with the heat of magnetic flash induction, blew out like a bouncing betty, cleaving the top of the man’s head from everything below his jaw. His tongue rose feebly at the sudden absence of a head like a pink little earthworm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Schlappschwanzen" = "Cowards."


	3. Plan

A giant of a man tore into the startled remainder, flying past Angela, stopping in his bull’s charge so that he was between her and the shooters. They weren’t so startled they forgot about their kalashnikovs. Angela almost had been ready to call it quits. _ Almost. _ The crossbow bolt embedding itself in her shoulder caught her off guard-- the medic wincing as the force of the impact knocked her off balance. A hand came up as her knees caught her fall-- though before she could stop herself, her back hit the ground, fingers bumping against the bolt and sending a shooting pain up and down her arm. Eyes jammed shut, and after a moment she opened them-- but now the silhouette of a behemoth filled her vision. He was far larger than any of the Australian survivors she’d seen-- at least triple in width and double in height-- though, her perception was likely exaggerated due to the fact that she now lay prone, gasping for breath. She struggled to get back onto her feet-- trying to keep her eye on the fight and on her savior.

The sharp staccato of their weapons’ efficient Russian voices, calling all the way from World War 2, filled the dry Outback air. Rounds audibly hit the interloper, but he didn’t seem to slow. The smoked glass of a military issue gas mask’s eye lenses lit with the muzzle flashes. The terrible cannon he carried seemed to lead the arm, for the mammoth certainly didn’t bother looking where he was aiming. A splash of white-hot scrap shredded the flanking Smoke boy, sending him toppling to the sand in an agonized wail, one of his legs all but removed by the cruel shot.

Mako had shaped the rest of the engagement tidily. The doctor had begun that work, leaving him with a clear entrance into the fray. Slapping the bulk feed into his cannon’s breach, the coils drew hungrily from the microreactor, spinning up with a high-pitched electric whine. The men in front of him turned to red vapor, plumes of sand rising twelve feet into the air from where the projectiles struck, creating a sort of blood-drenched sandstorm as backdrop for the denouement of her fight.

Flashes of light indicated gunfire-- Though the behemoth seemed to not care, as he disposed of them.  _ Backup?  _ That had certainly been  _ fast _ . She was hundreds of kilometers from the clinic-- let alone the Wall. Where he came from didn’t matter. He was saving her life, and that was what the medic was going to focus on. She scrambled backwards through the blood-speckled dirt, cradling that injured arm to her chest after choosing to ignore the bolt imbedded in her shoulder. She wanted to give him room for his onslaught-- and ensure there was space enough between them if she was wrong about his intentions. 

Mako swept the cannon unhurriedly from left to right. There wasn’t really anywhere to run. When the bulk loader ran dry, Mako popped it loose with a jerk of his shoulder. One left. It might’ve seemed careless, but even as the man dropped his weapon and broke into a desperate run into the dark, Mako calmly gripped a slaughterhouse hook from off his massive work belt, the adjoining chain tinkling like strange chimes. The sound it made as he swung it over his head was almost musical. He threw it in a great sweeping motion. The throw slapped the chain over the right man’s upper shoulder and pectoral, sinking the curving metal into the lone survivor’s sternum with a hard, wooden crack, like he’d just hit a homerun. With practiced ease, Mako tightened his grip on the chain, then twisted his hips, yanking the chain in a wide lash that hauled the man off his feet, through the air, and practically back to Mako’s feet.

The giant took a step forward and, with a little stoop, took the man by the back of the neck, like taking a kitten by the scruff. The man struggled, so Mako clubbed him once in the side of the head with the grip of his cannon. While not unconscious, the man was dazed. Satisfied, Mako chucked the man at the woman’s feet. By the time he had turned to her, though he was bloodied, there was no obvious sign of injury. Mako turned away once more and quietly clipped an inhaler to his mask, taking in a dose. Way he felt, it was probably going to be a double-dose kind of evening. He didn’t really acknowledge the woman beyond that, besides giving her a little nod, then a meaningful glance at the one man he’d clearly spared with intent.

She was impressed, by the behemoth  _ knight in shining armor.  _

She picked up her pistol, holding it in her injured arm as a hand clasped at the bloodied crossbow bolt. A breath and her teeth bared, the little medic stiffened and flexed as she yanked it from her flesh-- an agonized gasp following a yelp and a gush of blood into the dirt below her the only indication that she felt it. Though, as she stood for a moment, breath heaving, the wound in her shoulder healed itself-- the blood rushing forth slowing and stopping in just a few seconds, as if that ‘magic’ staff had been trained on herself.

Her boot met the man’s remaining shoulder, holding him in place on the ground with a little weight pressed down. 

A hand swiped at her mouth-- coming back red as she realized she’d been struck in the face during the scuffle. It didn’t matter, though. Her body would repair itself in time. Already the pulsing she felt in her face from earlier was slowing. She bared her teeth again in a snarl, the pearly whites stained red with her blood. 

She paid her savior no mind, for now, focused on the man at her feet and under her boot as she stepped on him. “What have you  _ Arschgeigen  _ done with my intern? Where is Angelo!” She paused for only a moment, taking a deep breath. Her sweet voice was a stark contrast to her words and her tone-- and her voice cracked from the exertion of the fight-- perhaps giving the inclination that she was about to weep. 

The Smoke boy was laid in front of her, neat as you please. He knew he was beaten, but Junkers generally never admitted that to themselves, let alone to the people how’d beaten them. At her question, he raised his head, spitting a fat gob of blood-laden saliva in her general direction. “Fuck yourself. You kraut _ cunt. _ ” 

Her boot twisted into his flesh, the medic mercilessly putting more weight down on that hook in his sternum. “Tell me, or I’ll kill you myself!”

And then his voice rose in a barely stifled, throaty scream of pain, eyes squeezing shut as she put her weight on the hook. After a moment, his eyes went wide and wild and he groaned through his teeth. “ _ Ffffffffuuuuuucccckkkk yyooooouuuuuuuu. _ ” He shook violently in the dust, gripping at the hook and her boot, desperately trying to make some distance, though she overpowered him with her surging adrenaline.

Mako didn’t pay much attention. He had an old army issue rucksack open, and was combing over the dead. He dragged them all into an orderly heap to make the work go quicker. In his right hand was a heavy cleaver. The first thing he took was the thumbs of their left hands. There was a small tattoo there, on the inside of them, bearing the Smoke clan sigil. The thumbs went into a large mason jar full of some kind of potent brine. There were already some thumbs in that jar before he started hacking.

The rifles were in good condition. Mako was very pleased to discover he’d missed them with his shooting. The crossbows weren’t bad, either. Into the bag they went, field-stripped for transport. Most of the canteens and waterskins had been perforated. Mako consolidated those, preserving what water remained in them. Some drugs, some bullets, an extremely worn skin mag from 2039. On the leader’s body and his second-in-command, Mako found some keys. There we go.

Angela’s captive found he could no longer resist her. He began to violently thrash his head from side to side.  _ “I DUNNO! STOP! I DUNNO! ONLY THE BOSSES KNOW THAT SHIT! I ONLY JUST GOT INKED!” _ Tears were pouring out of his eyes. Suddenly, the possibility of death left a different taste in his mouth. “We got stashes all over! Please! Fuck! Could be anywhere, I don’ even know ‘em all!”

Angela, for a brief moment, had an immense desire to just  _ off _ the boy, then. Frustration, coupled with her anger and the adrenaline that still made her jitter and itch to fight, fueled, for once, a desire to  _ kill. _ But she was merciful, this time. She would follow her Hippocratic Oath; just this once, and she would side with the behemoth behind her, finally pulling her boot off of the boy and bolstering her pistol while she spared her savior a glance. She wanted to kick the little junker at her feet, at least— but she composed herself. The boy confirmed there were more of this ‘Smoke’ group. Those would be who she had to find. 

” **_He’s not lying._ ** ” Mako spoke, his growling, resonant voice coming from almost immediately behind her. She almost jumped at the sound of it, instead looking up at him. His voice sounded of gravel and glass and sand-- not unlike over half of the people she’d met in her time here. He’d left his looting behind after hearing the desperate plea of the Smoke boy. ” **_Junkers don’t trust Junkers. If he just got his colors, they wouldn’t tell him shit, except where to stand._ ** ”

Just because this was a lawless land, didn’t mean that she could sink so low. She stepped away from him, then, giving herself some distance while she thought. A mental back and forth was had for a moment, before she shook her head, as if cursing herself as she dropped to a knee at the boy’s side. 

Mako took a step back and watched the woman undergo her largely internalized transformation. The warrior faded into the background, replaced by the healer. Mako had seen some wild shit during the war, but the process the woman brought to bear upon one of the men who had tried quite hard to kill her moments ago was something else, altogether. 

“Hold still, for me.” She said flatly— it was not a question, but a statement— an order. “This is going to hurt.” Her boot planted on his chest, before she moved to kneel— her knees instead holding him still underneath her. Her hands gripped at the hook, the medic pulling and pushing and easing it out of the boy’s body, fighting his desperate thrashing and agonized cries. After a few seconds, she was able to get the heavy hook out of his flesh; and with a final huff and a toss, it landed on the ground next to her in a blood spattered heap.

The medic was unfazed by the blood gushing from the boy’s wound, pulling that staff from where it had been physically strapped to her body. A click, and it came unfurled— the blonde saving the pomp and circumstance from earlier  and simply letting it power up. That override swipe of her hand, and the boy was enveloped in that same wash of gold. His wounds healed themselves— the boy’s pain eased until it was nothing. The golden light was like slivers of dawn, the energetic aura angelic, beautiful. It reminded Mako of the aurora australis, while he was rowing, as a boy. The way the light moved and breathed, like a living thing, surrounding the boy and knitting his flesh. Mako knew it was technology, but it felt like he’d witnessed something divine. Within a matter of seconds, it was as though he hadn’t even been injured. Not even a scar remained, and it was then that Angela stood back up. She’d yanked his hook from the boy’s body herself. He’d have done it, but she wanted to show that kid she was in control. He found himself watching her intently.

A huff, and she looked to Mako, for a moment, before helping the Smoke boy to his feet. A hand fisted into his shirt, holding him there for a moment as she leaned in close to his face— fearless and angry. “Get out of here, and tell your friends that they will release my intern, or by  _ God _ , I will find you.” Her teeth grit before she shoved him away, her entire body going into the push to make sure she got her point across. 

It was no act. He knew that for truth. During his watch, he had seen her. She was more sooky than any of the sooks inside; soft-hearted, kind. Mako knew seasoned combat medics, and most of them went tough like leather. She was hard as nails, but things still got to her. He’d never seen compassion to this degree survive such a lengthy tenure, let alone occupying the same space as her barely-contained rage. There was so much anger, certainly from a lifetime of her struggle against injury and death. When their supplies went missing and people went without vital goods, he knew she’d have shot whoever had tried it, had the opportunity presented itself.

The Smoke boy quickly ran off, not hesitating for a second. Mako shook his head at the retreat.  **_”He won’t. Only survivor. They’ll think he snitched, beat him to death if he shows.”_ ** Mako glanced to the earth behind the survivor, making a note of his prints. Let him have a nice, long lead.

When your day to day was almost entirely Junkers, having different people to deal with was a refreshing change of pace. In the beginning, though, it had just been easy money. Dr. Ziegler’s work was sweeping a dirty floor as far as Mako was concerned. This was a lost place. Survival just meant another generation cursed to living like this. Those gates were never coming down, and almost no one was ever let out. The world would wait them out, and when the Junkers’ numbers had thinned themselves, they’d roll in and take it back. And, honestly, that would probably be an overall improvement.

“I suppose I should thank you for coming to my aid.” She brushed her dirty hands on her dark clothing, an attempt to clean herself off from the blood, before she held out her hand for a handshake. “I am Doctor Angela Ziegler. Were you injured, back there?” Quick eyes looked him over in the dark, spying the spatters of blood, but no visible wounds on his gigantic form.

Angela. Her name was Angela. Mako laughed, too soft to hear, a puff of air through his nose. She was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered in his life. The duality of her nature was intriguing. One moment, she could’ve been one of the inmates, then suddenly compassionate, then back again. This savage woman lurked just beneath the surface, ready to strike at the first ripple, like a crocodile. 

Sometimes, through his binoculars, he’d tell them to give up in his mind. That junkie’s going to try and shank you, those kids are just running a scam, that old woman is faking for pain meds to sell. Angela Ziegler just plowed through, head up, eyes open. After a time, Mako began to realize that she knew all these things. She’d just seemed like some doe-eyed softie, but she knew better. It was just more important to help the people who needed helping than to deprive them just for the sake of thwarting the cons. She ministered to these people like Mako fought; you soaked up the punishment, you shrugged it off, so you could do what needed doing.

So lost in his reverie was he that when Dr. Ziegler first addressed him, he didn’t immediately notice. Of course, no facial expression was visible behind that mask, so it was anyone’s guess where his head was at. After that awkward pause, though, Mako wiped a palm on his pants and carefully took her hand, as well as her wrist and forearm, giving a small squeeze and a single shake.

” **_I’m fine._ ** ” What a dainty little hand. It was hard to reconcile such a fragile-looking creature with the valkyrie of mere moments ago. Mako found himself enjoying the juxtaposition. ” **_You?_ ** ”

“I will heal, just fine. There is certainly no need to worry about me on that front.” She shrugged, ignoring the ache in her shoulder and dismissing the other visible scrapes, knicks and bruises. She wasn’t wrong— with each passing moment, her flesh looked as if she was healing— glowing, almost—the left side of her face having swollen, yet the bruising already looked as though it were days old, yellowing, and fading away. She watched the boy run off into the dark, heart swelling once again in worry for her intern. What happened to the boy that ran frantically into the dark, she couldn’t help him. He was releasing her hand, when he noticed that glow, and turned her arm just a little to observe it, before his attention rose back to her face and he released her. 

She crossed her arms in front of her, rolling her neck with a hum, trying to ignore the exhaustion from the imminent crash of adrenaline from her system. A deep breath in, and an almost-sigh in the exhale. She meandered over to her bike, inspecting it. 

“I am sure a  _ knight-in-shining-armor _ like you has a name that I can refer to you as,  _ Ja? _ ” She managed a little chuckle, shaking her head. He must have been with the Wall Guard.

_ Knight-in-shining armor. _ He made a snort at that, the sound bestial through his mask. Knight sure beat “Roadhog”, but he had a feeling he couldn’t convince the rest of the Outback for the switch. As she walked to the bike, he followed her, looking the thing over. It was a nice machine. Didn’t see anything this recent in the Outback much. Of course, that wasn’t a good thing. With its own unique look and sound, it was going to draw a lot of attention.

” **_Mako. Already know you, Angela Ziegler._ ** ” For a moment, it felt like there was some kind of an explanation, but his head turned down. He was plainly inspecting the rest of her, attention drifting from her eyes. It could well have been lascivious in nature, but the truth was Mako found himself unable to look away from the light. It bloomed beneath her skin, like she had a sun inside her. Her trick was slower, but she sure got to look prettier than he did. They were both bloody, of course. Wasn’t much they could do about that.

“Mako. Like the shark? Cute.” She spared a smile— a genuine one, despite the circumstance—running a dirty hand through her hair as she looked back to her bike. A few bullet holes in the shell and her heart sank, the little medic holding her breath a moment. Her fingers traced along the punctured fiberglass with a gentle touch, pursing her lips.Angela would have felt unnerved by his staring had she not been so tired. She didn’t want to try to start it, yet, a fear in her gut that it wouldn’t. A look back over to Mako, taking a deep breath in. 

‘Like the shark.’  _ Fucking hell _ . Sometimes, it felt like he was the butt of some massive cosmic joke, as often as he had that particular exchange. Maybe he should just start introducing himself as Roadhog. Maybe that would just make things easier. Mako left another one of those silences sitting, before answering her, a touch awkwardly. ” **_Y-yeah._ ** ” Yeah. Mako. Like the  _ shark _ .

“I have heard of you, Mako. Mr. _Rutledge._ You’re rather  _ famous _ , aren’t you?” 

_ Heard of him. _ He thought of that dumb little quip where people would reply with ‘ _ all good I hope _ .’ Wasn’t much chance of that, though, was there. Mako Rutledge. The  _ Roadhog. Gladiator _ . Either she’d heard of him from some of the Sooks, or she’d read that article on the Exclusion Zone in that magazine he couldn’t remember the name of. He had a little bit in there. Did they use his real name? He couldn’t remember that, either. Still, she didn’t want to have heard good things about him. She wanted to take her intern back from the Smoke clan. And, given what he saw, he suspected she wanted to take them out, too.

He looked, then, to her inspection of her vehicle. Shit. Judging by the shape? That shot was one of his. He hadn’t even seen the sleek little number while it was powered down. Until she walked over to it, he’d completely forgotten it had been there. He made a little wince, the mask concealing it, by and large. That solved the problem of conspicuous transport, though certainly not how he’d intended it.   
  
“Are you with the Guard, then?” She asked, reaching in to her hip holster to pull out a cigarette box and a lighter. A little white stick of nicotine was placed in between her lips, and with a flick of an old lighter and a little flash of flame, she took a long drag.    


_ The Guard. _ How had she been here so long and yet couldn’t fathom how _ insulting _ the suggestion was? Though, as he reflected on the question, he supposed it was technically true. Well, the truth would out, in time. Better to give her the whole thing now, than to have it come out later. She took advantage of his silence and kept talking. She was anxious to keep going. ” **_No. Not a Warden. Wardens worried your clinic getting hit by Junkers would be trouble. Hired some mercs. Like me. Few others._ ** “

She reached over to her bike, then, for a moment unbothered by the fact that she’d apparently had protection this entire time— climbing atop it and pressing the thumb reader ignition— before... it sputtered and spat. But the engine didn’t turn over. Another try, and the medic stared down at it, sighing. Caught in the crossfire, a casualty in the firefight. “That gang kidnapped one of my interns and is holding him for a ransom.” She explained, as if it needed explaining. “May I impose... and ask you help me once more?” She asked, the weariness finally showing in her voice as she pinched at the bridge of her nose and jammed her eyes shut in frustration. “I can pay you in top notch medical care or some other trade. Name your price.”

“ **_When they got your boy, guy on duty wasn’t there. The “Guard” called me in, panic style, to make sure you live. Nice bonus, too. You don’t got to pay me. Double-billing is for assholes and Junkers._ ** ”

She gave another little smile in his direction, moving to step off the kaputt hoverbike. Angela indeed noticed the way he seemed to pause, blue eyes scanning over that mask with a rather pensive look. She paused as she looked at him, taking another drag of her cigarette. She held in the smoke, before letting it go with a long exhale into the breeze. Perhaps a poor choice of words-- but she hardly heard talk of the Wardens in the hellish lives of those fighting to survive. Especially when she was wrist-deep in emergency surgeries, paperwork, and requisition orders, most days.

“ _ Wünderbar _ . It certainly was nice of them to tell me they had  _ protection _ for me all along. Not to mention, they kept my team and I waiting for close to six months, before they even allowed us to work, here. Though their hired boys haven’t done very well, in the long run. My shipments were still rifled and stolen, and now my intern was kidnapped. Sleepless nights and close calls all around… You have been the only one to actually show yourself as an ally in all of this-- mercenary or not. I appreciate it, even if you are simply a mercenary, as you say.” Her words were bitter and rambling, at first; but slowly shifted into sincere, heartfelt and almost serene-- as if she hadn’t just fought for her life, and narrowly escaped with his swooping in on a golden chariot. “I appreciate it, and I  _ will _ compensate you myself once my intern is found. It is the least I can do. I know that I am simply an outsider in all of this, and in the end, I do not belong here. None of my medics do. It is my fault that they are even in harm’s way. We all just wanted to help, as  _ naive _ as that is. We weren’t expecting people to shy away from our help, at first. So we have been rather… isolated. From the masses; though I am sure you know that, already.” A little laugh, and another shake of her head. 

Angela took another drag off her cigarette, pausing to enjoy the nicotine, looking out into the night. On the exhale, she continued, moving to step back over to him, arm extended as if to offer a cigarette, at least. 

Mako waved off the cigarette politely, tapping his mask. ” **_Nah. Wardens said keep out of sight. Didn’t think your people would approve of us._ ** ” He felt momentarily irritated at the association she made; that he would’ve permitted anything to go missing while they were under his eye. When Mako took a job, he fucking well did it. He realized there was no reason for her to know any of that, nor assume it. To her, he was just probably just another Junker mutant. That bothered him more than he imagined it would. 

“Of course we would have approved—“ Angela started, huffing as she cut herself off and putting the little cigarette box away into the holster it came from. She returned to the bike to retrieve the bag of medical equipment— essentially a glorified first-aid kit with a few days rations,  as well— before meandering back over to Mako with a last sad glance to the hoverbike. 

Mako made a dismissive snort. ” **_No crew would take a job from the Wardens. All freelancers._ ** ” He might have been enough of an Outback gentleman not to let her unwittingly pay him a second time, but he wasn’t going to refuse double pay if she was knowingly offering. Of course, it was more like triple pay, since the Wardens had also put out a bounty through their usual intermediary for Smoke clan. If he helped her, that was a choice opportunity to fill up that jar of his. Her request hadn’t entirely come as a surprise. He’d already set the start of it in motion.

“Do you have any sort of idea of where they are keeping him?” She asked, as if she instead was a desperate mother looking for her child.   
He pointed over her shoulder, to where the Smoke boy had made his escape. ” **_We follow him._ ** ” After having instructed her to let him go, he expected that would be an odd change of heart, to suddenly pursue him again. ” **_He knows where they parked. Smoke didn’t walk here. Find a car. Drive. Follow the tracks._ ** ” Mako held up the keys he’d lifted earlier. ” **_Tada._ ** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/N: 
> 
> "Arschgeigen" = "Assholes"  
> "Wünderbar" = "Wonderful"


	4. See

“A  _ wonderful _ idea,  _ Herr _ Rutledge!” Angela’s eyes lit up as Mako continued— unable to help her usual method of speaking to people— inspired by at least a direction of where to go. A little glimmer of hope in a quite literally dark world. She couldn’t help but grin and clap her hands at the sight of the keys in his fingers. She felt for the terrified boy that had ran into the night— sparing a pity-filled glance in the direction he’d gone. She almost asked about him, not doing a very good job of hiding her concern for the boy’s wellbeing. That was her problem— she felt too much— and her overbearing compassion was both a blessing and a curse. Her hands knitted together, those lithe, anxious fingers fidgeting together absentmindedly for a moment. “Shall we, then? By all means, please lead the way.” She perked back up, holding out an arm and hand delicately as if chauffeuring him forth.

It was strange to see an outsider who would touch him without reservation, as she did. The Sooks treated the likes of Mako as if they were afflicted with some terrible disease. Most people were fairly put off by Mako, regardless. Whatever his explanation for his present ... condition ... might be, to Junkers and Sooks alike, he was just another mutant. Mutants weren’t terribly beloved, anywhere. It suggested a parentage in the Badlands, an inauspicious background that often saw smaller men barred from pubs or sleepouts. No one denied Mako services, of course. Like the good Doctor had said, he was  _ famous. _   
  
Still, it took him a moment to realize she was offering her arm to him. Their height difference made it a little awkward, but she was nothing if not accommodating. So, Mako took her arm in his, and suddenly tracking felt like a late stroll. Mako found himself wondering at her ease with him. He knew she was Overwatch, knew a few things about her, but she was continuing to surprise him, now. He’d saved her, certainly, but his brutal nature was often off-putting for Outsiders. She was no dupe, but she seemed to trust him so readily that he felt his defenses lower. That was something he didn’t generally do.

She didn’t want to say just how out of her element she was, out here. Combat medic or not, she was used to taking care of entire fireteams in a heat of the moment battle, or running a medical department, or even one of the hodge-podge clinics— but now, she was to be taking care of one man in a godforsaken wasteland. At least, that was how her subconscious mind put it— and for once, she didn’t seem to mind. She was no tracker, nor was she an outdoors-woman. But, she could quite definitely keep him alive. And he had proven himself in doing the same for her.   
The moon seemed larger, here, hanging in the sky in a thin, dramatic crescent. The luminescent splash of the galactic spiral arm was its backdrop. The flash of satellites and debris plunging through the atmosphere was a semi-regular occurrence; derelict, they lit the sky with tiny streaks of flame in their dramatic deaths. The only light pollution in any direction for dozens of kilometers was her little village. Though the breathtaking night sky lit the scrubby surrounding terrain evenly, it was difficult to imagine that Mako was managing to find a pair of footprints in light this low. Yet, there seemed definitive purpose to their direction. The night sky here was unlike anything Angela could have seen in Switzerland. There was too much light pollution, too much noise and too many people, even following the catastrophic nature of the crisis. She had never before seen the milky way-- Nor had she really taken the time to watch for ‘falling stars’-- and had she not been so distracted with the task at hand, she likely would have been just as awestruck as a child seeing it for the first time. The medic meandered along with the behemoth of a man; her hand ended up resting at his elbow, like a stroll through a park, allowing them for movement and letting the medic still feel grounded with another person nearby-- especially after the shitshow they’d just gone through. As time had passed, the medic’s face seemed to have healed up completely-- and if she was still in pain from her shot to the shoulder, she certainly didn’t show it. 

Now and again, Mako would point, but it was rare that anything amidst the dusty earth and gnarled old brush looked like a footprint, and Smoke boys’ shoes didn’t have any tread. 

” **_There._ ** ” He said abruptly, bringing them to a brief halt. Releasing her arm, Mako walked gingerly over to a patch of earth. He faced forward, then turned back. ” **_Big stop. No keys. Go back? No. She’ll kill me. Scared. Angry._ ** ” Mako turned his back to her again. ” **_Has to hotwire one of them. Does he have his tools? Yes. Drops one. Here. Picks it up. Hands unsteady. Still shook._ ** ” Mako made a grunt of a laugh. Probably more scared of her. Worried she might change her mind. ” **_Going faster, now. We should, too. Easier to track._ ** ” It wasn’t a discussion. Mako had already been pulling his big canteen from his belt. 

Another pang of guilt, perhaps, at the fact that they had made the boy so fearful-- but the medic would not stop until she had her intern back.  He pulled a straw from the top and inserted it a hole near the base. Taking a big drink, he stowed his canteen, then broke into a thumping run. As heavy as he was, his pace was steady, his gait that of a more athletic creature.

" _ Easier to track? _ " She called out quietly before she could stop herself, before she followed suit. She didn’t lag far behind-- tightening the strap at her shoulder to hold her staff in place, before she sped up her gait. A quickening walk into a jog, her stride long to match her legs as she easily kept up with his pounding steps with her own near-silent ones. She spared a glance behind them, just in case, and was happy to see no one in pursuit.  _ As though they’d missed anyone in their fight.  _

Once the little doctor had caught up to him, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder behind them, towards the ground. ” **_Like us. Deeper prints. Heel goes in, toe sweeps back. Fast tracks. More obvious._ ** ” He hunted. Mostly, it was humans who were his quarry, but now and again someone would pay for a pelt or for him to put down some mutant terrorizing a settlement or village. No one was easier to hunt than humans. Loud, obvious, and prone to sweeping themselves into a corner. Tracking them was the easy part. 

The kid would never have given up the vehicles willingly. The fact that he didn’t mention them was what tipped Mako off. The Smoke boy knew if he led this witch and Mako back to the clan, he was dead either way. The Smoke boy rolled the dice. Just so happened he didn’t even know what game they were playing. That he took such a risk in the first place told Mako all he needed to know: the vehicles would lead them where they needed to go.

Mako held up a hand, coming to an almost stop, sliding through the dust. Before his mass could come to a total halt, he made a beeline for a little dune to the east. There was an old barn and some crumbling buildings some hundreds of meters away. There weren’t any lights visible; the buildings almost melted into the darkness of night, save for the height of that barn, whose roof had enough holes to let the starlight shine through. Mako hurled himself to his belly abruptly once they had the hill between them and the building. ” **_Get down._ ** ” He pointed firmly to the earth.

The little medic stopped and got down as he too dropped down, at first thinking that he had fallen. Instead she had angled her body back-- falling back onto her hip and coming to a star-baseball sliding stop at his side. All but a little puff of dirt and she was still, chest heaving from the run.

“ _ Are you alright? _ ” She whispered, barely audible. Already her hands were at the pack at her back-- muscle memory to when she was a combat medic doing just this. She spared a peek up towards the barn, scanning over it frantically for movement. Though, like near everything else in the wastes, she couldn’t spy any signs of life. 

Though, Mako himself was proof otherwise-- along with the fact that the Smoke gang seemed to pride themselves on disappearing, and easily being able to do so. 

“Did you see something?” She ducked back down, coming to lay flat and prying her tense fingers from the fabric of the pack, letting it be on her back once again. 

Mako’s actions were done with haste, but without surprise. It was only the quiet urgency of Angela’s voice that proved unusual. He looked to her with a questioning cant of his head. ” **_Not yet. But they’re there. Wouldn’t leave their convoy unguarded._ ** ” To Mako, the trappings of a land in a semi-permanent state of war was as obvious as could be, and he seemed a little surprised it wasn’t obvious to her. Then again, she knew what happened when you left anything, anywhere without sufficient security in the Outback. It got fucking stolen.

From out of his pack, Mako withdrew a pair of nightvision goggles, ancient military surplus that had been adapted to work with a more modern battery. It snapped neatly onto his gas mask, plainly having been modified for the fit. ” ** _Smoke likes quiet, long range. Probably a shooter in the rafters. Maybe two more guns with the cars. More new blood, or they wouldn’t have held onto the keys._** ” There truly was a science to this. Mako understood the various gangs, clans, tribes, and claves of the Outback like a biologist with the local fauna. He stated all this before he even saw anything. ” ** _Smoke’s good at laying low. Hard to spot._** ” Mako paused for a moment, then removed the goggles, adjusting their fit. He glanced to her sidearm. ” ** _What’s your range with that thing?_** ”

"If I can see it, I can hit it. Something like 200 meters, most likely. It is hard to gauge with such unstable ammunition. But I am no sharpshooter, if that is what you mean. Despite what you might have seen back there.” She thumbed behind her in the direction they came from, crawling forward so that she was flush on the little dune, blaster unholstered as she settled in to take aim. She sat quietly for a long moment, the medic even holding her breath and staring, near-unblinking. She was no sniper, nor was she equipped to even try. But she had taken lessons from the best of the best, back in the day. 

The pistol powered up-- clicking quietly as it superheated its contents-- a noise that was muffled by the medic’s hand loosely covering a vent. She laid silently, sparing a slow breath now and again while she simply waited for movement. She couldn’t give their position away with a stray shot-- or worse-- a shot that missed. 

Though, after a moment, she stopped, breaking her concentration to look at Mako-- her voice still a whisper. “It is rather quiet, don’t you think? I doubt that boy would lay down and take whatever his friends dish out to him quietly. He is panicked and desperate. He saw the light and certainly does not want to see it again, no?” 

She tilted her head up and over to the dark building. “It would be fair to assume his friends are either only armed with primitive weapons, or they’re not there at all.”

Mako shook his head at her last conclusion. ” **_Smoke’ll have one long gunner on overwatch, at least._ ** ” He handed her his goggles.The medic accepted them, shooting him a concerned glare before bringing the goggles up to her face and taking a moment to coordinate herself as she looked about. ” **_Here. He’ll be hard to see. When you see him, shoot him._ ** ” Once he’d given her that much of an explanation, he sprung with surprising lightness to his feet, his belly jiggling with his sudden agility. 

He began to creep in towards the barn, shuffling down the hill. However, his left hand was grasping a length of his chain and he was swinging the loop much too loudly. He would brook no protest from his traveling companion, plainly a man on a mission. 

To the shooter’s credit, it didn’t take him long to get a bead on his target, though given the size, that should hardly come as a surprise. The flash was somewhat suppressed, but the report was not, the shot echoing out over the Outback. There was a great spray of blood and Mako slumped over into the sand. There was a loft, hard to see in the dark, in the roof of the barn. Once Mako got the shooter’s attention, the Smoke boy walked along the rafters to the gap in the roof, leaned out, and fired. Clean hit, and certainly a kill shot. 

Angela’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of Mako go down. She almost hesitated, her arms pressing forward as she almost moved to stand— though, her shot presented itself with the Smoke boy as he leaned out the opening to finish off his prey and to gloat. Teeth ground together, and as the Boy fired his second shot, the medic had taken aim and fired several shots in his direction.

“You guys!” The shooter shouted down into the barn. “I think I just killed Mako Rutledge! Right out fr--!!” The voice had the quality of a rusty harmonica, wheezy and shrill, before it was cut off. The shots hit their mark, molten lead fizzling at the boy’s hands, face, and anywhere else the rounds had splashed onto his body. With a loud, agonized scream, he flailed about where he stood— dropping his gun with a clatter as he too fell from his perch. Another second of screaming in the dark and the boy fell quiet— but his friends revealed themselves in the noise.  

The Smoke boys shouting on the ground below didn’t entirely know what he was on about, even as he tumbled off his perch, falling to the floor of the barn, stone dead. That got their attention, Her pistol was so quiet, they hadn’t quite known what the sound was, until the escapee realized, and outright just ran from his mates, screaming. “RUN! IT’S HER! OH SHIT!” The others lacked the context, and so they stood their ground, squared off against her.

It didn’t go well for them.

The medic provided ample covering fire— glowing molten shots hitting whatever moved. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and she effectively ‘tagged’ two of the boys as they ran outside. A voice screeched, almost as if happy about their catch, before a shot singed at his chest and the door frame behind him.  _ A wasted shot.  _ A glowing, burning mark on their chests as they flailed about. Soon enough, they managed to pinpoint her location— shouting something about a damned distraction— before two more filed out behind their comrades.

The medic’s pistol clicked once, twice, and she reeled back as the last two surged in her direction, weapons drawn and confident that they’d offed Mako. She dove forward, not wanting to waste any time as her staff came unfurled— the device powering up with a bright golden glow. A swipe of her hand and she overrode it just as before— and its healing beam locked in to Mako as she ran forward with little fear for herself. She came sliding to a stop next to him— more like sliding into him, using his form as a shield as she pulled her automatically reloaded blaster back out. She knew that even with a head wound like he must have had, her staff could keep him alive. Some bit of brain activity. Though, she didn’t want to lose her only ally in this. She couldn’t add his name to the list of people she couldn’t save. Her breath hitched— raising her pistol with her other hand over the behemoth’s form and firing a furious little barrage of molten shot as it clipped the boys in their return fire in the dark. A knife was thrown, and a rock smacked and sliced open the medic’s cheek. Some of her shots missed, others clipped and hit their marks. 

As they frantically charged at her, she ruthlessly fired-- the two of them toppling with agonized screams that soon fell silent, save for one. One of the boys left squirming and crying out in agony as his flesh and muscle melted from his hands. His goggles forcing him to watch what was unfolding to his hands in hyper-night vision clarity.

She spared a moment to look down at Mako, then-- frantic eyes looking for any sign of life as she threw off the nightvision goggles. The Smoke boys lay there, suitably smoking, the lone survivor doing his surviving while noisily suffering from the wounds Angela inflicted on him. Mako lay there, too. However, with the action largely dying down, she could hear slow, peaceful breathing. Soon, his chest was rising and falling as his lungs took deeper breaths. They’d been so shallow that it hadn’t been visible, even to her, as unlikely as that seemed. That mask of his had a great hole in it, above the right brow, and hung partially off Mako’s face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/N: 
> 
> "Herr" = "Mister"


	5. Touch

This allowed for Angela to see something none were meant to see. One of Mako’s eyes was visible, the way the mask was torn open. There was some blood, but no head wound. His right eye was milk white. It wasn’t just an obstructed pupil. No iris was visible. It was just an expanse of white. And then, it drew away like a curtain, revealing a great black eye that rolled and looked to Angela. Mako groaned sleepily, beginning to stir in earnest. Angela almost ignored the remaining boy’s cries, perplexed for a moment at the nature of Mako’s eye. She thought for a moment that he was blind, or that perhaps the bullets had indeed pierced his skull, and before gentle, yet firm fingers pressed at the pulse at his neck to feel that indeed he had survived before the pupil rolled into view to settle on her. Looking across the ground, to the dead Smoke boys, he made a deep chuckle. ” ** _Nice. Sorry. Hit me harder than I thought._** ” She pulled back from where she’d leaned over him— allowing the behemoth room to sit up. Overwhelming relief crossed her features as her staff powered down.  A blood covered hand touched at her chest, giving a little sigh of relief. Though, as she really began to study his eye, her gaze wasn’t fearful or irked as much as it was curious— a sharp mind—almost childlike in its quest to understand.

Soon, though, as he sat up, he realized he was seeing her with his naked eye, and turned his head away, raising a hand to the rent in his mask with a reflexive flinch. Perhaps it was best not to speak of his mask, now. Even if it was obvious, that she wanted to ask.

“You gave me a scare, _Herr_ Rutledge—“ she paused as he flinched away, brow furrowing as he aimed to cover his face again. She wondered for a brief moment if he realized that as a medic, she had seen a lot. At first, she had assumed he had had a breathing disorder that required him to breathe filtered air at all times, but now it seemed that it was a different reason.

She turned away, brushing off her dirty hands and retrieving her pistol, letting the barrel hiss and pop from its place as the weapon reloaded itself. A glance at the little glowing screen just above her hand, and she clicked her tongue. Only five more ‘clips’ left, out of the seven she had ventured out with. She knew for a fact she had no more cartridges in her knapsack, and so she would have to count her shots.

She rose to her feet while Mako regained his bearings, stepping around him to finish off the boy that writhed on the ground. She almost looked disgusted, mouth curled into a grimace as she ruthlessly fired three more glowing, molten rounds into the boy’s head until he stopped moving and fell silent— remnants of his skin and muscle tissue melting from his face like some sort of grotesque, blooming flower.

“Are you alright?” She asked, finally; calling back to Mako while she used her boot to turn the silently screaming face of the gang member to look away from her and towards the blood-soaked dirt.

Mako got up, carefully, to his feet, certain to keep his back to Angela. ” ** _Yeah._** ” He looked down, into the dirt, where her latest execution lay. He didn’t quite mean to. He hadn’t been outright unconscious. Stunned. He heard the sounds of her second heated exchange with the Smoke boys. He’d flushed them out and she’d taken them down. It reminded him of Chloe. Just the two of them, stalking the Wasteland together. Exposing a shooter just like did then was a maneuver they pulled a dozen times or so.

Staring, as he did, lost in his thoughts, his mask was left to hang open, revealing what he’d tried to hide. That eye, so round and dark, like a big dress-jacket button. It was hard to know exactly where it was looking. She could make out a cheekbone, suggesting a massive bone structure, and the facial shape itself seemed inconsistent, just from what she could extrapolate from the visible. The skin was as pale as the rest of him, but not so unmarked. There were strange, faded designs, barely visible in this light, that had a Polynesian feel to them. He seemed to remember the present, turning away again, though with less urgency. Taking a deep breath, Mako pulled the mask from his head entirely, causing his little topknot to bob. The mask itself was a self-healing polymer. He spent some time worrying the edges of the mask together, until it became whole once more. He checked over his filters, then took some water from his canteen and poured it into a funny little compartment on the mask, covering it up afterwards. Mako replaced his mask with a smart little snap, turning back to her.

” ** _Just knocked me down. Nice work, Dr. Ziegler._** ”

“ _Jawohl._ You May call me Angela, if you’d like. No need for formalities.” She offered, waiting til she could hear his voice more clearly— showing he’d turned himself to her before she looked back up to her companion. “Just try not to run out into the line of things like that again, Ja? ‘Knocked down’ or not, you gave me a scare.” Her voice took on an almost scolding tone.

She came to stand an arms length from him, arms crossed and standing stubbornly as she quirked a brow up at him. A pause, before her tone grew gentle once again. “How is your face? It was rather bloody from what I could see.” She asked, stepping away to pick her staff up where she’d left it in the dirt, folding it up and strapping it to her back again.

”Huh.” Mako unleashed a great chuff of breath, a laugh, but without mirth. It wasn’t impatient; she’d earned some good will with him. It was more weary. He’d seen how she worked. There could be little doubt of her inquisitive nature. She wanted to know how things worked, so that she could best put them back together. In another life, she might’ve been one of the scientists to work on his project. Maybe that would’ve turned out better. Didn’t really help to try and change the past by thinking, but some days that was easier said than done.

” ** _Wanna look, huh._** ” It wasn’t really a question. ” ** _Not ashamed. Not hiding. Outback’s dry ... and folks don’t always smell too good._** ” His tone wasn’t defiant, but it was confident. He knew he what he was. This was an iron will, and an immutable sense of self. He didn’t seem to bear any resentment towards the idea of her curiosity. When he thought about that, it seemed a little out of character to him. He didn’t let his attention linger on that for too long. ” ** _Scares some folks._** ” He added, in a cautionary tone of voice.

"I can _guarantee_ that I won't get 'scared' by your face, Mako. I just worried at first that you needed it to breathe, period." She shrugged, admitting her thoughts plain and simple. She was blunt, yet gentle enough. "If you feel you want to keep yourself hidden, then be my guest, _Ja?_ " She gave a little smile-- an upward quirk of her lips for a moment. Honesty was clear in her tone and her features on her face, as she looked up to study the mask-- that surefire glitter in her eyes as her want to see was written all over.

"You...You have tattoos, no? They are... Austronesian? No. Polynesian? Aaah... What were they..." She trailed off, tapping her chin and rolling her eyes upward in thought. Trying to think back to the various cultural classes she'd taken in university, and her own independent research what seemed like eons ago, now. "I am not familiar with the various tribes, and please, correct me if I am wrong." A little breathy laugh, and she faced her palm toward him and gently shook her hand back and forth. It certainly wasn't the time to make small talk like this-- but the medic was curious, and she couldn't help her own stubbornness, sometimes.

Mako laughed again. There was a touch of actual humor there. She meant what she said, but her face meant what it said, and it said it louder. She was desperate to see, but it wasn’t the bystander’s morbid fascination. When she said it wouldn’t frighten her, he found himself believing her, straight away. He reached back, unfastening his mask, then pulled it free. There was, to put it simply, a great deal to take in. One would have thought the spiraling geometry of his Ta Moko would grasp the attention first, but it was often the eyes one really noticed, before anything else.

Other than the hint of sclera at the outermost edge, his eyes were fully black. Was it all pupil, or was there a pupil in the darkness? They gave him a feral demeanor. This was only accented by the shape of his face. There were clear changes to his bone structure. His jaw was like a cinder block, surprisingly angular, especially taking into account the rest of his physical composition. The total structure of his face was a touch elongated forward, yet blunted, smoothed. It didn’t look regressive. Rather, it looked almost as if his parentage had been spliced.

After staring at her in silence for a moment, he stuck his tongue out in a pronounced curl, widening his eyes in a classic Maori war face. He slapped his left pectoral, then clasped his opposite forearm above the elbow and took a low horse-riding stance in the beginnings of a “haka.” His teeth were difficult to ignore. As with his jaw, they were sizable. They were also atypically serrated, looking less like something a land mammal would carry around in its mouth.

” ** _My grandmother said ‘Te aitanga a Punga.’ Here is a child of Punga. God of sharks, rays, and lizards. God of freaks._** ” He gnashed his teeth once, then let his mouth spread into a grin. ” ** _So, here I am._** ”

Angela’s eyes widened, her fingers loosely covering her mouth as it fell agape for a moment. She was not frightened, more fascinated, cocking her head as her gaze scanned over the swirling designs on his face, and up to his dark eyes, and even his visible, irregular teeth before trailing back to his tattoos. They were faded, and old, and as he put on his little cultural display, she couldn’t help but laugh. Not one of beratement or in a way that he was funny, but a rather delighted little giggle that was followed by a polite few claps of applause. _Approval._ She has seen plenty of mutants from the irradiated wasteland that was home for the people here, and as per her doctrine, she did not skip a beat in her usual mannerisms and light demeanor.

Mako actually looked away from her at her reaction, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. For how stoic he was with the mask on, his features were remarkably expressive. She could see that her attention left him a little abashed, but the light-hearted giggle she enjoyed; the utter fascination with him flustered him, some. That wasn’t the reaction he typically received. He actually resented how much he enjoyed her girlish response, in contrast. It was clear, more than anything, that he was pleased with how she had responded to this; _to him._

She could understand why his appearance might have frightened others, like he’d said. But she feared little. And Mako’s face certainly was not on that list. He was just a person, under the apparent various modifications that had been done. “I do not think you are ‘scary’ at all. People here must be far more fearful of the world than I thought.” She mused, shaking her head with a playful little smile. “And I do not think you are a ‘freak,’ either, Mako. People should be proud of their culture, at least in some aspects. You are no exception. Why not keep your face uncovered?”

” ** _Told you. Not ashamed._** ” Mako replied, a touch stubbornly. His voice still held that growling, rasping resonance, even without the mask. If anything, it was clearer with his face bare, but still it was an imposing manner of speech. Being able to see that monstrous mouth move around the words to form them was a touch surreal. He turned his head to his left and ran a finger up from his jawbone to his cheekbone. They’d blended in so incredibly well with his Ta Moko that she might have missed them entirely otherwise, or dismissed them as injuries. They looked like little more than scars. They were not.

They were gills.

” ** _Too dry._** ” He explained, patiently, turning to face her once more. A vestige of his earlier smile remained. This was the Outback, home of all sorts of mutants, freaks, degenerates, and so forth. He'd never been terribly troubled by his face, here. He'd been shunned for neither companionship nor comraderie, though he seldom sought the latter. Still, it was different with an Outsider. He had forgotten what a protective barrier the mask was, and felt sheepish, but also flattered, and was unable to conceal either from her.

Mako’s sheepishness only earned more of an endearing little giggle from the medic, Angela unable to help herself. Though, he seemed to steel himself, turning his head to point out the scars to her-- no, gills-- bored into his skin. She had missed them in her initial staring at his tattoos and the rest of the facial features he’d kept hidden. “ _Oh!_ ” A small exclamation, in contrast, tilting her head the other way as she studied them.

She hadn’t seen a successful ‘gill’ implant from the various medical records that had fallen onto her desk instead of Moira’s, and the various medical databases she’d accessed throughout the years--especially not one that was free of cyberneticification. Perhaps it had been a byproduct of the radiation out in the wastes, or perhaps he was an experiment from a sick mind not unlike Moira’s. She was sure there were plenty of sick people out in the wasteland, or perhaps it had been a government experiment not unlike the soldier enhancement program.

Mako didn’t have much of a poker face, living behind that wall. Even so, the fascinated, good-hearted enthusiasm with which she took in his oddities made him glance away, unable to quite meet her gaze. He wasn’t ashamed, no, but the level of attention she was giving him, so unrestrained; it was actually a little embarrassing. Due the nature of his circulatory system and his outer dermis, the blush was actually highly visible when she finally, if inadvertently caused him to have one. He coughed once, before turning to look back to her just in time to have her touch his face-- the little medic standing on her tiptoes as her thumbs almost lovingly traced along the lines in his skin that the gills had drawn. She brushed the smears of blood away, head cocking once again as she studied them. “ _Oh._ ” Another small exclamation, as she leaned in to peer closer in the dim light; Blue eyes filled with wonder, if anything. Breath held, as if she didn’t breathe at all. His lips parted a little, eyes wide with surprise. That little “Oh.” of hers intensified the blush. She lay hands on him in a way that was studious, curious, but she never made him feel like a curiosity or a thing. The way she addressed him, in combination with her little study left him feeling like she continued to see him. Mako found he wasn’t terribly used to being seen. This was more than the exposure of taking off his mask. He had other defenses that went much deeper than something you wore on your face, but she breezed right past them. His gruff exterior was for naught. It hadn’t been idle talk. She really wasn’t scared of him. Not his reputation, nor his countenance, nothing.

So many people felt utterly at his mercy, even if he wasn’t after them. Companionship often scuttled away, too fearful to stay in his company, saving those who only gave him their company when they thought he could protect them. It had only been three lovers in his whole life who’d seen him with his mask off, since his Change. Traders trembled, passersby edged away while avoiding eye-contact, and other bounty hunters scowled from a safe distance behind his back. Being the Roadhog was a solitary existence. It was strange for her to just be right there, as if it wasn’t an issue. But, then, it really wasn’t, was it? As different as they looked, they were both fighters, fighting for their own causes, unwilling to stop for anything.

Questions bubbled in her head and ached to be asked. “Do they cause discomfort? Are you able to breathe, otherwise?” One left her mouth before she could stop it, releasing his face just as fast as she’d pulled him in. Her heels hit the dirt again, her hands retreating to brush the smeared blood on her pants.

When she withdrew her touch, finally remembering herself, Mako closed his eyes and laughed. It was a heartfelt, boisterous laugh. He took a step closer to her. ” ** _You,_** ” He began, with a toothy grin that made him look like some kind of crocodile man. ” ** _I like you._** ” He pulled his mask back on, having been fiddling with it, binding the polymers more securely with little pressing and stretching.

Angela couldn’t help but pout at her little questions gone ignored, the medic’s hands curling into fists and resting at her hips as she watched him step closer and don his mask again. “I certainly hope you would like me. I gave you covering fire.” She playfully stuck out her tongue, before patting at her hip holster and the straps across her chest to ensure she had everything. Her little knapsack was still intact despite the scuffles, and the goods inside were just fine, as well.

Mako’s face may have been newly hidden, but there was no mistaking the startled laugh and subsequent grinning she inspired with her girlish little antics. ” ** _That_** ** _was_** ** _nice covering fire._** ” Once the mask was in place, Mako bobbed his head in the direction of the humvee and the flatbed truck inside the barn. " ** _C'mon. Let's go find your intern. Look for a map or a GPS._** "

With a nod and a little hop in her step she darted into the barn, spying the vehicles in question and moving to look around, her boots making scuffling noises in the dirt as she moved about

He paused, watching her skip away. His gaze lingered just a little longer than it should have as she paused to straighten herself out. Clearing his throat, he hustled after her. With her checking the humvee, Mako took the old flatbed. Digging into the driver’s cab, Mako pawed around inside with little grunts and groans, not fitting terribly easy, despite what should have been a touch more space than the usual car interior. Wasn’t easy bein’ Roadhog.

She pulled the communicator off her belt, spying Markus’ response message to her SOS from earlier. A quick few taps ensuring that he knew that she was alright and help had arrived, and she activated a flashlight-- lifting it as she peered around inside the darkened humvee. Any comfort amenities inside the vehicle had been ripped out-- the seats had hardly any cushion left, the leather torn and patched and burned in places. The glove box was gone, along with what looked to be a center console. Little was inside, and the medic even squinted under the seats-- crawling inside and looking carefully, as if she was searching with fine toothed comb. That’s when she found it-- a beat up looking GPS tucked in a compartment near the steering wheel.

With so little being found, Mako’s scavenger instincts kicked in and he began to check under and between the seats of the truck. Something hard and plastic touched a finger tip. After struggling for a moment, he made an angry little grumble. Grasping the base of the seat, he yanked it full out with the sound of shearing bolts, tossing it behind him with a loud clatter. Revealing the object, he snatched it up quickly, rushing over to Angela with thundering footsteps, just moments before she called out to him.

A few button presses to boot it up, and she leaned out the open driver’s window, calling to Mako and flipping off her flashlight to show off the GPS as he approached. “Did you find something?”

” ** _Angela. They had him in the truck._** ” He held up a small passcard ID with Angelo’s face on it. It was what they used to get into the electronically secured compartments and buildings they’d set up in the village to secure their goods as best as they could.

“ _Scheiße._ ” Angela’s face blanched at the sight of the little card, a concerned hand coming out to retrieve it from his fingers with a choked little ‘thank you,’ brow furrowing as she glared down at it in the dark. It certainly was his ID-- the boy’s face bright and cheery in the photo. Angelo had known what they wanted. He knew that it might have killed him to do so, yet he defied them to protect something as trivial as _property_. He was foolish, yet... In that moment her heart swelled for the boy, mouth curling into an agonized scowl. She looked back to the GPS in her other hand, tapping at it a moment and recalling the previously used coordinates. While she was in thought, Mako had a sharp, sudden feeling. He was accustomed to some discomfort around him, but the little internal struggle she felt now had nothing to do with him. Mako knew people. Humans, more like. Junkers might have seemed like a very specific breed, but the truth was they were merely the distillate of the race; every bit the greedy, self-centered, savage, cowardly people that so many were, at heart. There were exceptions, even within the Exclusion Zone, but not many. Just enough for Mako to know she was one of them.

She was no saint. Perhaps, it would gall her people to know the way she cut down those who stood in her way, but Mako knew for fact that the killing she’d performed tonight would certainly save lives, even discounting Angelo. And all this risk, all this blood and pain, was to save one person. Not a brother or a confidant. An intern. An underling. She could have taken him for lost, as many would, or let some higher authority make their token gestures. She didn’t. She threw herself in, without risking anyone else, with the singular goal of saving this boy.

He wondered if she knew this Angelo very well at all. He suspected, from the way she’d spoken of him, that they’d only had so long together. Angela had none of the markers he’d recognize as a romantic tie or deep friendship. She as well as was doing this for a stranger. She would, he realized, do this for a stranger, if she but had the opportunity. For that unspoken darkness in her that let her function in Mako’s world, she was, he could not deny, truly good. There was a greasy feeling of the slightest shame, that she had to endure his company, a mercenary, when she did all this simply for the sake of improving the world.

Those rough hands were significantly larger than hers. Mako pulled the glove off his right with care, hesitated a moment, then settled that hand upon her shoulder. She felt so slight, so small. Like he could break her if he wasn’t absolutely careful. He thought of his father’s mother, of her christmas tree, of the glass angel that hung in the branches. Such a comparison was an illusion. She didn’t break. She wouldn’t allow herself to break. She’d weather whatever came her way and keep moving forward. It wasn’t the fragility that drew him, but the kindred spirit of one who is simply not permitted, ever, to be weak, to be vulnerable, to be lost. He squeezed that shoulder for several seconds, gentle. It was comfort, it was apology. It was more eloquent than he felt he could be.

If Angela wanted to cry before, she certainly wanted to cry now. The medic had been so frantic to find him, but the tiny act of throwing his ID card away most certainly ensured that he did not sit well with his captors. He was fighting them— which meant that he held the same fight in him as much as his mentor did. It was that stubbornness that nearly got Angela killed what seemed to be on a daily basis— and it would certainly be Angelo’s downfall, too. It was a reality that Angela was slowly coming to accept, despite her fighting.

As his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she didn’t flinch. Though, she took in a shaking breath as her gaze fell from his masked face to her hands clutched tightly at her chest. “It’s a silly sentiment, in the logical side of things.” She started, voice light. “I was working with Overwatch and saved Angelo and his family. He must have been... Oh, fifteen? Sixteen? Well, I heard from him again once he was twenty— he was in school, and reached out to me to sponsor him and offer his aid wherever I needed him.” She pinched at the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “And so I did. He went through all the training to be a proper combat medic, just like I did. He gave up so much to work with me. I— _Verdammt_ , and he is willing to die to keep our supplies secure.” She shook her head and looked back up to the pig-shaped mask above her. “It would be easier for me to just let him go. But... My team and I... We are all like a family.”

“I am sorry to have dragged you into this, Mako. But I do not have any other allies, here.” She tried to explain, tucking the ID card away and letting her hand come to rest atop his— the little appendage certainly far smaller than his. “Words cannot thank you enough for all that you are doing, right now.”

Mako left his hand there while she spoke. It was such a strange, long-ago thing to do. It would have been easy to tell himself he didn’t remember the last time he’d given comfort to another, but that would have been a lie. The memory was just as vivid as any from that unreachable place in time, when, briefly, a child born to war was able to make some sense of this ravenous world that glutted itself on the unprepared. It had been years. He knew exactly how long, down to the day. The comfort he gave was false hope, and it only made what came next hurt her worse.

Mako did not provide hope. Mako had no hope to give, and certainly he’d had none for himself. There was just the certainty of this violent life, and that he would live it until someone better came along. It was all the same to him.

Wasn’t it?

She never knew he was there. That was the point. They weren’t supposed to. Mako wasn’t supposed to have admitted that the Wardens were hiring inmates like this. Wasn’t exactly an approved work study. They made it clear that such unauthorized disclosures would jeopardize their pay. Keep them safe, but from a distance. Easy enough. Yet, now, as then, watching her, absorbing the complex contrasts of her true nature, it pulled at long-buried things in the dusty corners of his sluggish mind.

When he spoke, it was like dreaming, like his thoughts were making themselves heard without his permission. ” ** _I was let go, once._** ” There was a quaver, there. ” ** _No one came for me, Angela._** ” He had been staring into the earth, now, beyond her, forgetting he even held her shoulder. His hand shook. Old memories. Painful ones. She could feel the very mechanism of his recollection burrow in where it could hurt. Yet, in the suffocating fog of that bad place, there was a light there. It could not last, it would not stay, but while it shon, like Venus, in his sky, the night was brighter.

She was too good for this place. Too good for him. He should have told her that Angelo was almost certainly already dead, that it wasn’t worth risking such a good life for any one person. But he couldn’t. She gave him hope.

Angela’s gaze lingered on the man above her, her hand giving his a tentative squeeze at the heartbreak in his voice. Her own face showed her concern, regret as if she could have done anything to help him prior. Apologetic and gentle; As if giving comfort, especially in return, was second nature to her, as natural as breathing. Though it was certainly obvious, she was sure. She leaned into his hand, letting her cheek fall to rest atop his knuckles and let him remember what he needed to. She didn’t say anything, simply letting her hand linger on top of his until he pulled it away to thump his fist against his chest. He was present, his head level, eyes focused, visible even through the lenses of his mask. There was certainty in his posture. ” ** _With you._** ”

The little device beeped in her hand, and the GPS’s screen simply showed an arrow pointing at the ground, in a flat plane of a map. Angela held it out to Mako in return to look at through the open window.

“It looks to be at least an hour’s drive. Do you still have the keys?” She asked, looking up at the eyes of Mako’s mask, blue eyes darting between the two glass coverings that obscured his eyes, as if scanning for a reaction. The GPS the only illumination between the two of them, her face showed the fatigue that she otherwise masked quite well.

With a flick of his fingers, he tossed her the keys, rounding the other side of the vehicle and venturing away for a moment to fuss with the flatbed. He set about some preparations methodically. He found the man she’d killed with a shot to the head, and carefully removed part of his attire, shaking off the brains and tossing them into the cab. He yanked the front passenger seat out of the humvee, the vehicle rocking in place after that gun-shot loud “snap!” Strangely, he began to tear with his hook into that seat he’d just removed, gutting it and discarding the foam and internal structure, leaving flapping, empty old upholstery, which he folded carefully.

He pulled out his Mister Thirsty and drained the flatbed’s tank and topped off the humvee, saving half a tank in case they needed further distance. Junkers were always extremely careful when it came to fuel. Mako tallied the water, his rations, and the gas, and knew they had more than enough. It was amazing how fast that “more than enough” could suddenly vanish.

Mako gestured to the clothes. ” ** _Won’t fool ‘em for long, but you can fool ‘em long enough to get close. Me, got my own disguise._** ” He shook the upholstery. As they got into the car and she started her up, with him taking up all the space beside her, he looked straight ahead in silence for several seconds before speaking again. His voice was unreadable, carefully neutral, though the context said plenty.

A thought crossed her mind, wondering what would happen to Mako once this errand was done. Would he simply disappear again? Would he stay? God forbid if something happened to either of them on the mission— perhaps she could barter with the ‘Wardens’ for some sort of ‘parole’, or related arrangement.

It was the least she could do in return for what he had done, and proved he could do.

She stopped the thought process, opting to focus on the now, instead. She would focus on Angelo, and ignore the twist of anxiety in her gut.

Mako was set on this course, and would make no change to it, now. He would get Angela Ziegler past this threshold, whether Angelo was living or dead. If he was dead, Mako would help her kill Smoke clan. Outsiders liked to wax philosophical about the futility of revenge, but Mako had drunk deep of that cup many times, and each time, the taste was only sweeter. It would be therapeutic, and would provide an excellent deterrent to future attacks on her little compound. If Angelo lived? Mako would make sure she could bring him home. Mako had never been saved. He was past saving, now. And so was anyone he could have saved.

If Angelo wasn’t past saving, Mako would get her there. Angela would save her intern, and, at least once in his cursed existence, Mako would be able to bring someone peace.

She put the vehicle into gear, and eased into the gas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/N: 
> 
> "Verdammt" = "Damnit"


	6. Story

” **_Angela ..._ ** ” A beat, after minutes of silence. ” **_They don’t hurt._ ** ” He tapped where his gills would have been, under his mask. ” **_And I breathe normally. Just feel dry in this air._ ** ” He looked toward her then, pointedly. ” **_We got an hour. Ask._ ** ” It might have almost sounded impatient, but in truth, it wasn’t even the least bit begrudging. He found her attention oddly ... enjoyable. The way she regarded those features that lost him so much made him feel ... special. To have someone who could see the man and the enhancements with the same eyes at the same time was something he’d never really experienced, before. 

She spared a glance over to Mako, blue eyes flicking over to him as he spoke and offered her information had she simply asked, before she focused on the road again. Her mouth opened slightly, thinking and trying to organize her thoughts. 

Mako savored that silence, full of concentration, as she prepared to unleash the full measure of her scientific curiosity upon him. So, too, did he enjoy his own sense of anticipation. He didn’t make a habit of telling his story. Oh, that reporter had been dying when they were doing their intense, action reporting in the Outback, but Mako hadn’t felt like it then. He never really felt like it. The story felt too much like an appeal for sympathy, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted. What he really wanted was understanding, and he never imagined he’d find that out here. The prospect of having someone like her hear his story...

“You weren’t always like the way you are.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement. “It is clear from what I could see. What happened to you, Mako? What is your story? I-if you do not mind me asking, of course. I always have other questions.” She managed a little half-hearted chuckle, glancing over to him again. Always polite— always empathetic and always accommodating. That was her way. Most of the time.

He steeled himself. He had to tell this stuff right. Mako didn’t want her to think he was trying to ply her with some kind of  _ sob story _ . ” **_I was thirteen, when the War began. Dad was American. Came to New Zealand for work, fell in love with the culture, stayed. Met mom. Grandma said grandpa did a_ ** **_haka_ ** **_at their wedding._ ** ” He paused, realizing she might not know what a  _ haka _ is. ” **_Maori dance. Little strange, a lot of folks think. Shouting, lot of energy, angry faces. Very emotional. Dad was an engineer._ ** ” Another pause. His breathing got just a little tight. ” **_Worked around the Omnium. Remember a call. Mom screaming. We were running to the car. Didn’t know why. Kept trying to talk to her. Water was coming outta her eyes, but she was quiet._ ** ”

Mako grunted. ” **_Omnics killed support staff, first. Dad called to tell mom she had to run and hide. She heard them kill him. Two days later, almost everyone I ever went to school with, everyone I knew, everyone I liked, was dead. Mom, her parents, and my cousin Kim was all the living family I had._ ** ” He turned his face to her. ” **_That was all of us. You, me. War kids. Know you understand. Only telling you so you understand why._ ** ” His attention turned back to the road, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with his deep breathing.

” **_In Oceania, it was two hundred fifty thousand dead, per day. New Zealand was less automated than Australia. Folks didn’t always trust all the new tech in their lives. Funny, huh. New Zealand had more living government than Australia after three days of war. Next five years, all we do is survive. Five years of findin’ out who didn’t make it that day, of hearin’ the sound of ‘em. Walkin’ through. Lookin’. We were lucky. We had the blankets. Hide from ‘em. New Zealand omnics divert to Australia. Give us room to breathe. To regroup. By then, everyone knows; bots want every human dead. Time to fight._ **

” **_Hear about a program. Mom doesn’t like it. Omnics are good at killing us. We’re too soft, and they can just put themselves back together unless you really get ‘em. Scientists, doctors, want to ..._ ** ” Mako leaned his head back, thinking of the words. ” **_... even the playing field. Gene therapy. Got a lab set up on a big submarine. Mom says don’t go. But I have to. There’s a girl, Kaia. Her family and mine, we do a lot of surviving together. End of the world. I love her, and she’s pregnant. My dad, his parents, all his side of the family, back in America, all my family back home, the girl I liked at school, my English teacher ... I couldn’t just wait to die, with all them dead, with a baby on the way. I had to do somethin’._ ** ”

Mako scratched the back of his head with an uncomfortable sigh, but kept going. ” **_Don’t really understand any of it. Graftin’, splicin’, all kinds of words I don’t really understand. Painful. The needles were nothin’. But then, they’re floatin’ us in these tubes full a’ goo. And I feel like I’m bein’ torn apart. They take us out, make us pass out, sometimes I wake up on a table. They’re not bad people. Tryin’ to help me fight. Hurts. Screamin’. I remember waking up and beggin’ them to kill me._ ** ”

He had his hands on his knees, nervously kneading at them, clearing his throat before he continued. ” **_Then I wake up. Everythin’ is different. Everyone’s so ... small. I was ... 190 centimeters, before. Suddenly, I’m 221. Strong. White as paper. Twenty of us. Only three of us when it’s all done. Other seventeen ..._ ** ” It was obvious, enough. He didn’t bother saying it. ” **_I look like some kinda ... god, or devil._ ** ” He gestured to his face, beneath the mask. ” **_None a’ this, yet._ ** ” He patted his belly heavily. ” **_Or this._ ** ”

Mako leaned back into the chair behind him, letting his head loll back. ” **_Test run back home. Fighting was light. Bots would light us up. We didn’t care. Three of us, we fought like a thousand men. Guns and armor. I once caught one a’ those ... assassin bots. Didn’t make a sound, but I smelled its invisibility in the air. Didn’t even see it, but I caught it, tore it open with my hands. Spent all my life afraid, and suddenly they couldn’t hurt me. Oh, it hurt gettin’ shot ... didn’t matter, though. With the gas feed, we could just keep goin’. Kaia has a girl. Names her Kora, after her grandma. Gonna fight for my girls, until there’s no more fightin’ to do. Not many of us, but enough. Other projects, other soldiers, other armies. Ship us out all over the place. Smash and grab. Escort. New organization for the War. A thing called Overwatch. Came outta the super soldier projects an’ shit._ ** ”

He laughed awkwardly, looking out the side window, away from her. ” **_Fight was changing us. Not like usual. Physically. As we regenerated, we changed. One fight, bad fight ... machine burns my fucking face off. This is it. I’m done. I just keep fightin’. I can feel ‘em around me. Think I’m gonna die, but I live. They pull me off active. I want to get back in, but the other two are dead an’ ... I’m changin’. My eyes grow back. Skin grows back. No scars. Just changes. Get ... aggressive. Harder I fight, faster I heal. Now, when I lose teeth, new ones come in. Blood gets toxic. Muscles breakin’ down. I go out of commission, but adapt. Start gettin’ heavy. Gills, voice box ... me soundin’ like this._ ** ” His voice was getting thin. Angela listened silently as he went on, eyes directed ahead as she focused on the drive. Though, as he went on, her brows furrowed, and her mouth curled into a frown. One of empathy; the medic glancing over to Mako now and again, her eyes filled with concern and understanding. The type of understanding that indeed, she knew precisely what he went through. Though, she hadn’t gone through the  _ Hell  _ he had. The GPS 'beeped', the little clunky device the only illumination in the cab of the humvee as it rattled along the dirt road.

” **_We siege the New Zealand Omnium, win. Then the Australian Omnium. Win. Lose most of my guys, ‘cept our platoon combat engineer, Bruce. They start broadcastin’ it. War’s over. Hadn’t seen my girls in over two years._ ** ”

Mako gestured to himself in an all-over fashion. ” **_This is startin’ to really happen. They ship me home. Kaia is brave for me. Kora, though ... little girl can’t stop cryin’ an’ hidin’. Doesn’t get better. Kaia tells me I have to give her time. Start spendin’ time at the bar. More and more time. Can’t really spend time with Kaia while Kora’s around. Little girl just knew better. At the bar, some drunk is talkin’ about my_ ** **_Ta Moko._ ** **_Askin’ why a white boy is wearin’ ‘em. He ... touches my gills, don’t know why he’d do that. Good poke. Must’ve thought they were tattoos. I ... uh._ ** ” He trailed off for a moment. ” **_Guess ... guess what happened was I bit his hand. Off._ ** ” Mako sighed again, wearily. ” **_An’ ate it. All of it. Cops showed up. Put twelve men in the hospital. Just walked home. Nothin’ they could do. Started shootin’, buuut ..._ ** ” Mako shrugged helplessly. ” **_Rules didn’t apply, anymore. Not to me._ **

**_”Someone pulls some strings. Gets me a contract gig in Australia. They got trouble-makers, he says. A rebellion. Wants me to put it down so they can get to work makin’ peace. Wet work. Assassination. I just go. Don’t even talk it over with Kaia. Payout’s big. Off I go to work. ‘Cept ... they’re tryin’ to hand the Omnium territory over to the bots. I was fightin’ the ALF, killin’ ‘em. Senior leadership. Then they tell me that. These were folks I’d fought with, in our last big push. All they want is to have their land, but the Australian government’s pushin’ ‘em out. Relocation. Switch sides. Beat the ADF, instead. Win. Maybe I just need a fight. Maybe killin’s just what I’m for, now._ **

” **_Still. Got a broker. Turns my pay here into money there. Wire it to Kaia and Kora. Kora graduated University, last year. Bet those eggheads would shit if they knew how she paid tuition._ ** ” He allowed himself a laugh at that. ” **_Kaia’s got that little house in the country she wanted. That’s ... that’s it, I guess. That’s my story._ ** ”

Mako lapsed into silence, taking a great, long drink of water. His throat felt scratchy from all that talking. After a moment, he just peeled the mask off and poured great gulpfuls of water into his yawning gullet, swallowing noisily. As he did so, he wiped at his face, though new tears continued to run down.

She’d grown up in the crisis. She’d lost her family to it-- she remembered her parents, and then her other distant family members on the ‘missing’ board. She’d been surrounded by people-- children, just like her, who had gone through the same. And together, they’d been nestled into the Alps-- seemingly far away from the war-- only the occasional glow on the horizon and ghost-like distant gunfire to remind them that a war was indeed brewing. Even now, she was a dignified combat medic-- opting for peace when she could. At least, she was supposed to. 

He’d lived it, and gave, from what she could understand, far more than she could have ever dreamed of. And the more he’d spoke, the more she could hear his voice growing thin a the mention of it, the more that the medic’s heart broke for him. In the end, she almost regretted asking. 

Her right hand left the gear shift, sparing a moment to touch at his arm. Gentle fingers at his bicep, a reassuring squish of those lithe digits before she let her hand return back to its place on the gear shift. She put her shoulder into the gear change, leaning forward slightly before settling back into the seat.The amount of total physical threat Dr. Angela Zielger posed to Mako Rutledge was, if not outright zero, very near it. Yet, when she first touched him, he about jumped out of his skin, bumping a little dent into the roof above him as his face snapped around took at her. Then, there she was, soothing, gentle, kind. No matter what she heard, still he was human to her, still, he was something she could bear to touch. He was not some animal despoiled by progress, but, to her, at least, a man.

“You did all you could, Mako.” Angela started, her hand squeezing at his arm again as he began to drink. “Your daughter, and your wife are lucky to have you, even if it isn’t directly.” A little reassuring smile to him, before her gaze settled back on to the road. “The world is a terrible, unforgiving place. There are atrocities all around. Australia, and Oceania are not the only places that still suffer following the damned war. But in our own way, we’re aiming to fix that. You, by killing, and me, by rebuilding. Either way, the job gets done. The diseased rats have to be exterminated before you can patch the holes, mm?” 

Another few pats before she pulled her hand away, returning to its place on the gear shift as she shifted in her seat to get more comfortable. “You are a good man, and your condition is the product of a program in which even they did not know what was going to happen. You did what you could; and like you said, you aren’t ashamed of what you are. And you shouldn’t be. Your family is taken care of, and that is all you can do, mm?” She paused, her thoughts turning to her intern for a long moment. That reassuring smile faded to one of concern as she glared at the road ahead of her, drawing her lips into her mouth for a moment as she took a deep breath in. A good man. Mako wanted to scoff or snort or smirk; what a ridiculous assertion. Mako Rutledge, good man. His own country shipped him off because with the state of their police and general infrastructure, he could’ve probably taken over the country if he’d been fast enough, Mako Rutledge, who stopped keeping count of his kills at around two-hundred men, and that was over ten years ago, at least. A traitor, several times, an assassin, a general all-around gun for hire with little regard for human sympathies, taking out his anger against the world on people who were barely ever related to the woes of his past.

“You said your condition deteriorated following the conflict. Is it worsening?” She asked suddenly, trying not to sound too clinical. “I am no geneticist, but I think I could potentially help with your condition if that is the case.”

After she asked after his condition, he was momentarily distracted. ” **_Naw. Been like this steady for most a’ twenty years. Maybe I start changin’ again, one day. Don’t matter. But, good?_ ** ” His tone grew amused, and his incredulity bordered on outright dismissal. Mako shifted in the cramped compartment, looking to her with that unreadable mask. ” **_You can call ‘em rats. Think you jus’ tryin’ to talk my language, Angela._ ** ” There was a grunt of laughter. ” **_You healed up that Smoke boy. Tryin’ to kill you, but you save him. Off he goes, to tell them we’re coming for your intern. He got away again. Gonna do it again. That’s what good gets. I’d have shot him and taken his thumb for my jar. Kill the rest, wipe the clan, turn those thumbs into cash in Junkertown. Buy some drinks, buy some food, buy some Mollies._ ** ” The medic gave a little huff of a laugh at his almost dismissive tone. She thought over his words, eyes not breaking from the rough dirt road ahead, and swerving slightly to avoid a deep-set pot hole. The GPS gave another little ‘beep!’ and she was clearly in thought for a moment. He continued in his teasing flippancy in the meantime. ” **_I ain’t good, Angela. Sad story doesn’t make me good._ ** ” Mako tilted his head as he looked to her, leaning just a little closer. ” **_Maybe you wish I was. Maybe I do, too._ ** ” Another laugh, then. ” **_Or maybe I got it all wrong, and you thinkin’ I’m good just means you’re bad, too. Or maybe there ain’t no good or bad. Maybe we’re all just animals. World of gray. I’ll keep your clinic safe by day, you come hunting with me at night._ ** ” After a pause, he made a crooning noise. ” **_Could finally try out those new air conditioners you all got._ ** ”

Eyes sharp and a quirk of her brow, an inhale of breath, and she smiled— a cheeky little grin— and one could make out the dimples in her cheeks even in the low fluorescent light of the GPS in the center of the dashboard. 

“ _ Herr _ Rutledge, I have a method to my madness. People are capable of change. Look at yourself—you claim to be something of a lost cause, yet here you are, flirting away. I certainly never thought I’d be asked out on a  _ hunting date _ versus something mundane like  _ coffee. _ ” She let out a little chuckle, rolling her neck as she let her head lean back on her seat’s headrest. Her tone wasn’t condescending, or even one of rejection— a playfully worded statement. Perhaps her own ‘flirting’ in return? 

That slouching, lazy posture he usually sported was nowhere to be found. This exchange with her simply required no less than his full attention. She defied even his most basic assumptions on what she would do, proving herself increasingly unpredictable. It had been so very long since he’d told that story. She wanted to help him, to ease his mind. She sympathized with him, saw the story as a part of the greater whole here beside her, but she did not pity him. He realized that she would not pity him. If he was, on some level, a means to an end, that did not stop her from respecting him as an equal. 

”... **_I like coffee, too._ ** ” Mako admitted with a shrug of his massive shoulders, partially leaning on the console between her seat and him, like leaning on the counter, talking to your bartender.Did he mean to try to throw her a curveball? Or, had he simply responded to her naturally? There was the slightest intake of breath, before he began to laugh at her accusation of his flirting. He was. Hadn’t even meant to be, but she hit the nail on the head straight away. Mako blinked first, looking away as he laughed. She spoke her mind, spoke the truth with unflinching clarity. She made no excuses for him, nor for herself, and it left him feeling oddly exposed in a way even the removal of his mask never managed. Mako was veiled in a world of innuendos and niceties. People tiptoed around a man like him in most situations, either intimidated or repulsed. They accused outsiders of their double-talk, but she was more earnest, more frank, than any of them.

Yet, if he felt exposed, and he did, it was not the dull burn of the incessant questions, the furtive staring. This was something different. Liberating. The modern moral sensibilities of the outsider held little value in the Outback, but he found that he was trying to quantify her, just so he’d have an improved chance of understanding who she was. He caught glances, certainly, of Angela Ziegler. It wasn’t that she tried to hide anything, but more that she was remarkably complex, like a Pre-War wine. The comparison held well in his mind; he savored every little detail, but felt a constant urge to drink it down all at once, spurred by its dark, sweet taste.

Her gaze shifted back to the road, the medic letting out a little hum at the GPS’s triumphant little ‘beep’ at another kilometer gone by. “You are certainly lucky you are a charmer.” At that, her expression was unreadable, all but that little smirk gone from her face. As though she were trying to master that poker face, but unable to quite get it.

He broke away from their minute intimacy for a moment, plugging the straw into his mask and taking a very long drink of his water. He hadn’t talked that much in such a short time in years. Mako could go whole weeks without saying a word to another human being. When she called him charming, she could see the grin, indirectly, in the shape of his jaw, the tweak of his earlobes. ” **_You’re worth bein’ charmin’ for. Lucky for both of us I even remember what charmin’ is s’posed to look like._ ** ”. 

“You have yourself a deal, Mako. You can have all the air conditioning, and as many dates with me, as you’d like.” It was then that she tossed a little glance his way, an eyebrow quirked expectantly. “It certainly would get me out of my clinics more often. Though, I cannot guarantee that I’ll be of much help to you. My medics will no doubt notice me leaving the quarters at night, and I have to sleep sometimes. Not often, but sometimes.” At that she chuckled again— a joke at her own work ethic.

He paused then, for a spell, taking a bit of a chance. A single fingertip pressed upon the skin of her upper arm, just above her elbow. ” **_Much help? You heal like I do, an’ you look better, doin’ it. Good shot, too._ ** ” He peered at the flesh he’d touched with a slight expectancy. ” **_It’s beautiful. Don’t think it’s magic, but if you told me it was ... might buy it._ ** ” He gave her a tiny nudge then, a wry tone to his words. ” **_G’wooonnn. More’n one interestin’ life story in this truck. Already told mine. Thinkin’ there has to be a story behind a woman made a’ golden light._ ** ”

 


	7. Memory

The medic didn’t move when he touched at her arm, not having realized her sleeve’d been rolled up. For a moment, she looked anxious about it— an emotion that flashed onto her face before fading away. The curve of her lips flattened into a line, before opening as if letting out a little surprised gasp. She’d almost forgotten the little scars that adorned her arms. Incisions, burns, scrapes and scratches that all had healed in various levels of  efficiency. Self experimentation, to finalize her caduceus tech. She’d forgotten in the fighting, and the fact that for once she was opening up, that out here, nothing really mattered. She’d been used to prying questions about them, but here he was, commenting on how what she did was beautiful. She glanced at where he touched at her arm, the blank slate that the anxiety had left behind giving another little smile. Almost bashful, certainly modest, if all things.

“My life, in comparison to yours is _far_ less interesting.” She mused, the GPS’s little ‘beep’ interrupting her a moment as she glanced down at it. “I was born in Interlaken, Switzerland. A little city nestled in with the mountains... and a big, postcard-like lake. My mother was a teacher, and my father was a doctor. Our family was really, only us— as my parents eloped and estranged themselves from Austria together. I remember that my mother was... pregnant; with my little brother. The omnic forces rolled through just like everywhere else.” She paused, speaking as though it all didn’t bother her.

“My parents and I were waiting for a train when it happened. Around my birthday. I was... _God_ , I was six, or seven. Young enough to not understand, really. Thirty years ago, now.” Another pause, this one longer as she tried to put what she remembered into words. Lips flattened into a line again, taking a deep breath in. “ _Ja_ , we were at the train station. We had received an evacuation warning, but the omnics arrived earlier than predicted. Next thing I knew, omnic forces had rolled in and began exterminating us. Just like everywhere else; nothing special. I remember watching our neighbor... _crumple over_...” She purses her lips, trying to remember the details. “My parents used themselves to shield me. Just like it was a trope out of a movie. I waited til it was quiet, and my mother stopped breathing. They were... awfully heavy to crawl out from under.” She tilted her head, relaxing her neck as she spoke somberly. “My mother told me to ‘be good’ and some other things that I cannot remember anymore. Probably what I needed to do, or that she loved me, in retrospect. I was too scared to think.”

The GPS beeped once again— a pause from the medic as she collected her thoughts.

“Military forces collected the survivors after a while. A few hours? I don’t remember. There were... a few of us left. Most of the children affected in the area went to other family, but not me, and others. The foster care system had quickly been filled up, and they sent us to be sheltered at a Catholic convent for the time being.” 

“That ended up being where I grew up. The Sisters banded together and opted to keep us there— we were out of the way enough that we were isolated from most of the war, and none of us argued. We were safe, fed, and had a bed to sleep in. You couldn't really tell there was a war on, there. It was out of the way, hidden in the Alps. Occasionally we'd hear the sirens and gunfire, smell smoke, or see fire in the next village over, but we lived under their radar.”

“A lot of the other boys and girls had trouble... adjusting. There were a lot of nights filled with crying, nightmares, violent lashing out, all sorts of things. More children were brought, a few injured soldiers, animals, and other civilians; and I suppose I just stepped in as a role to help. I became the big sister, in a way. I assisted in delivering a few children by the time I was twelve, and I learned how to give stitches and pull bullets out of someone by the time I was fifteen; out of _necessity_. There weren’t enough hospitals or staff for all the people needing help.” 

The GPS beeped, Angela shrugging nonchalantly.

“I graduated my secondary schooling at sixteen, and was put on an accelerated medical degree course. I worked in a hospital for about a year, once I graduated that at 25. I heard about Overwatch, and they approached me for my thesis on my caduceus technology.” She paused, tapping at her staff where it was still strapped to her back. “They promised me funding and resources to develop it if I enlisted, and so I did.” 

“I went through the basic training, earned my combat medic stamp, and set to work developing my thesis. We saved a lot of lives before the war ‘ended,’ and it felt good to be a part of something, for once. Well. Before it all went into the _toilet_. I quickly found myself in charge of the medical development department, and as time passed, my caduceus tech was ‘completed,’ for the most part. I’m glad I got as far as I did before it all fell apart.” 

“I tried to keep the little ‘family’ together. Oh, we loved one another. The science and medical development department was very close. I testified as the head of Medical Sciences to keep Overwatch together; but that fight was ultimately lost. Our headquarters was attacked, and the PETRAS act was enacted. I suppose the family that we'd all found had been torn apart all over again, if you're feeling poetic.”

She paused, her breath catching in her throat as she debated on telling him of her greatest mistake. The GPS beeped again, their trip apparently over halfway done. 

“I tried... to revive one of my commanders. But my caduceus nanites had been largely untested, and...” she trailed off, taking another deep breath. “He had had his genetics altered more than once. He was part of a Soldier Enhancement Program not unlike yours, I assume. But his DNA had also been corrupted by another one of the medical department— using prototype caduceus technology that I had developed, and she had twisted to fit her own agenda-- _God knows_ what that was. The level of corruption was something I didn’t realize the extent of... and, well. He would have been better off had he remained dead.” 

“He turned into this... _creature_. Leeching biometric energy like some living wraith out of the old storybooks. Ripping someone’s life from their body. A vampire, if you will. But more monstrous. He became this black cloud, and lost most of his physical body. His pain was magnified tenfold, his cells destroying themselves and rebuilding with the conflicting technologies mixing together. _I did that to him._ He killed several of my staff, and vowed to kill me, too, before he disappeared.”

“No one should have to pay for my lapse in judgement but me.” She said curtly, taking another deep breath as the GPS beeped again. She looked tired, the dread of her future setting in, mixed with the dirt, dust, and blood caked on to most of her exposed skin. She almost regretted opening up like this, having planned to carry Gabriel’s state with her until her own demise.

“I worked in the Middle East for a bit. But I had been trying to funnel relief supplies to Australia for as long as I could. It’s only now that I could physically come with a dedicated team to make a difference. Half of my team is spread throughout the Middle East, Africa, India, even two in the Philippines. The other half is here, doing our best.” She laughed at that, shaking her head at how modest she sounded. 

“I certainly am no mercenary, and I have made my own, very serious mistakes. I have my own kill count, and I am not above killing those who deserve it. You know that, firsthand.” She turned her arm that he touched over, the various shaped scars on her arms almost glowing in the light from the GPS screen. “These are all from when I tested— and finished— my staff on myself. I did not want to hurt anyone else for the sake of my thesis.” 

“I have definitely had patients die on my table. Friends, even. People begging me to save them, and I let them down. And someday? Commander Reyes will find me again, and kill me just like he said he would. There is nothing that can be done, there. All I can do is help as much as I can, and everywhere I can, before that happens.” 

“My technology will die, with me, as well. No physical copies of the schematics exist. It has been used too much to harm, versus its original intention to heal. The world is a terrible place, and try as I might, I fear I won’t make much of a difference before my time is up.” At that, she finished, falling into a solemn silence.

Now… If her heart had broken for him, with how much he lost, so it was at least that much hurt when Mako, hearing her story, had to imagine how much worse those years would have been without his mother there for him. It was not some analogue of Angela Ziegler he saw, when she spoke of the hazy, traumatized memory of her mother’s dying moments, but his own mother, dying in the rubble with his father. It was not Angela’s face on the little girl, trapped beneath her parents’ bodies. He saw his own little Kora, terrified of the monster in her life, desperate, uncomprehending. When Mako’s hands clenched to fists, she could hear the dull, groaning stretch of the heavy leather of his gloves.

Similar, but where Mako learned to destroy, Angela had chosen to learn to heal, to  _ create. _ In the dark moments of her early recollection, she could hear his breathing grow shallow, hesitant, as if afraid to make a noise. He remembered how still and quiet they’d had to be, when the Omnic sweepers came through, looking for those last remnants of living humanity. Still, within this narrative, he was coming to know the constituent parts of who she would invariably become. She’d lost so much, but she only allowed it to make her better. The trauma had given her a honed edge, but even that was never turned upon the undeserving, the vulnerable, or those she could, instead, help.

The history of Overwatch was a known thing, but it was different to know it from the inside, as she did. Her summary of those events was brief, but the cadence of her abridged words told almost as much as the words, themselves. She painted a picture of late-night desperation, of feeling betrayed, of feeling alone; of burning in a fire stoked on the best of intentions. The creature she described-- the creature she said she  _ created _ was unbelievable. Mako had not truly entertained the idea that anyone had come out with more of a monster than he could be, but it was obvious to him now how naive that had been. There was always a bigger fish, and  _ always _ a bigger monster.

It surprised him, how enraged he was by this part of her story. Her indifferent surrender to a fate she had promised herself to, and the monster who would fulfill the soft suicide she described, as absently as a grocery list. He barely heard the rest, wanted to speak up, but kept his peace. She deserved her chance to speak, and he allowed her that in silence. Her described inevitability settled over his mind like a smoggy haze. It was several seconds of silence before the spell was even partially broken. Was this how she’d felt at the end of his story, with its implied hopelessness? Could he blame her for her fatalism when he imagined nothing better for himself?

Angela indeed caught his tenseness as she spoke, the medic hoping that her matter-of-fact, to-the-point manner of speech would calm him-- though it was to no avail. It wasn’t like she was afraid of death-- though she could only guess where his mind went when she spoke. Did he think her as selfish? Naive? Perhaps he thought of his daughter, and his family. Perhaps he’d stopped listening, and she simply rambled into nothing. But, as she continued to speak, she felt as though she couldn’t stop, finally opening up after years of simply ignoring her past. Accepting her fate and living as the days came. 

His voice filled the silence that followed, and the words he spoke almost surprised him. ” **_The science sub. Sank in the war. Second-in-command of the science team ... Dr. Carlson. Only survivor. Had been working ... on a fix. Make me ... normal. Tried. Didn’t work. Nothin’ bad, just ... nothin’ good. I didn’t ... take it well. Broke some things. Not Dr. Carlson._ ** ” Before Angela could cover those scars on that delicate flesh, Mako placed a hand there. His soft grasp covered so much of her tiny frame, but his touch was gentle, as he leaned towards her. ” **_Work on me ... making me, fixing me, was useful. Therapies; teaching the body not to kill itself. Cancer. Brain stuff._ ** ”

Mako took in a breath, looking out the windscreen, but not letting her go, just yet. ” **_I knew it could kill me. Hurt me. Change me. Ruin me. Reyes knew it, too. Guy wrote a check his balls couldn’t cash. Not your fault, Angela. I could’a done different with this. I was angry. Lonely. Chose this life. So did he._ ** ” Mako turned away from her with a grunt. He was taking off his mask, taking a desperate gulp of water, needing the feel of it on his lips, pouring some of it over his gill-slits. Those dark eyes looked to her with an intense earnestness. ” **_Watched you these months. Know I don’t know everything. But ... just ..._ ** ” Words began to fail him and he looked down, growing lost in the struggle to speak, not for effort, but for the right way to say what he thought.

His gaze returned to her, looking into her eyes, placing a hand on hers, over the steering wheel, to steady their course while he had her attention. ” **_Live. Live for what you can do. Live for us. We don’t deserve it. We don’t deserve you. But that doesn’t matter to you, and that’s why you’re so-_ ** ” He turned away sharply, lapsing into a brief, throaty coughing, guzzling more of his water, upending the canteen into his waiting mouth.

Angela’s gaze darted from the road ahead to Mako as he leaned over to her, brow furrowed in concern until that large hand covered hers over the steering wheel. She was silent as he spoke, mouth pressing into a worried line. She managed a little smile, a huff of air as she prepared her own retort until he pulled away, coughing hoarsely. The little tinge of mirth she’d mustered vanished in less than a moment, worry and compassion written clear as day in the low light.

Her foot pushed toward the brake and with a shift in the gear, she pulled over. The vehicle came to a stop, and she pulled the bag from over her shoulder and let it rest in her lap as she put the humvee into park. Deft fingers unzipped it-- the woman likely ambidextrous in the fluidity of the coordination between her hands.

She dug around inside the knapsack, pushing aside the first aid kit, her little protein bars, and her bottle of water, producing a little canteen of her own from inside the bag. “Here.” She offered it to him, face blank as though she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “It is purified, from the clinic. Still cold.” 

Though Mako had originally thought to protest her stopping, the cold water passing down his throat and over his gills was such a tremendous relief when he finally relented that he shuddered from head to toe. ” **_Mm. Good._ ** ”

She zipped up the bag, tossing it into the back for now as she moved to get the humvee moving again. A shift, a lift of the clutch and the vehicle lurched forward once more, another shift and they built up the speed they’d had before as the GPS continued it’s little triumphant beeping. 

“You do not need to speak if it is uncomfortable, Mako.” She mused, leaning back in her seat and resuming her relaxed posture. 

He shook his head once he’d relieved that dry feeling. ” **_Doesn’t hurt. Just not used to talking._ ** ” The only person he had regular contact with these days was Bruce. Hammond wasn’t a person, but Hammond also did most of the talking, so that hardly counted. ”Dries me out.” He gave her a sheepish little grin and looked away. Mako didn’t want to admit to himself how much he enjoyed the fuss she made over him. 

“As for what you were trying to say, I already am. I take things day-by-day. I want… I want to improve the world. I want to help  _ rebuild _ it. You say that this place doesn’t deserve me?  _ No. _ You are right that it doesn’t matter, to me. I live each and every day as if it were my last. That is all we can do, mm?” A relaxed little smile-- indeed as though she were discussing something mundane like a grocery list, or the weather, or even her favorite flavoring for her coffee.

The smile faded a little as she went on. ” **_You sounded like ... like there’s no choice. Like it’s fate._ ** ” Then, he returned his hard gaze to her, brow heavy. ” **_Like he’s already got you. Hasn’t._ ** ”  _ Won’t. _ He almost spoke the word without even thinking, but stopped short. The inescapable vortex of her goodness lured him right in, and he was increasingly finding he didn’t even feel like himself, anymore. Honestly, that didn’t feel like the worst thing that could happen. Even so, in his heart, he already knew he wanted to protect her. He already knew he’d keep protecting her little village, even if the pay dried up.

” **_Maybe ... maybe you just need more help._ ** ” He suggested, looking out into the road, folding his hands over his knees. Glancing down to her canteen, he winced, quietly sliding the thing, utterly empty, into her bag behind her. ” **_Sorry. Drank it all._ ** ”


	8. Worry

Angela didn’t speak as he downed the contents of the canteen, shifting gears to push the humvee a little faster. The engine grew louder, and the inertia over the rocky road certainly reminded the medic that this was hardly paved. She did not respond as he spoke, either, at first, tired eyes watching the road as the GPS beeped again. She almost looked pensive-- sad, for a moment-- jaw pushed forward, her lips hinting at a pout and turned into a barely-visible frown. She seemed lost in thought for a while, mulling over everything. Tapping her finger quietly on the steering wheel as that expansive mind thought over her options. She almost missed him reaching back to tuck the canteen away. “Oh, I have another. It is quite alright.” She nodded, pursing her lips.

“Reyes-- Reaper, he goes by, now-- his form is… Unstable. He can... dissolve into this... cloud, lose his shape, and his mass, and is able to get through any non-airtight surface. He does not age, anymore. His body will continue to create and destroy its cells in a never-ending cycle until he is destroyed. And I only have a hypothesis on how to destroy him. Until then, he is unstoppable.” She paused, taking a deep, almost shaking breath in. In that moment she realized she didn’t want to die-- simply an acceptance that it was inevitable, and her time was precious. Every moment she spent could be easily ended by a ghost of her past. Her voice cracked, just once-- perhaps a subconscious show of the natural fear her training suppressed. “I cannot hide, nor can I run from something like that. I also do not want to spend my life running and hiding from… Well. He is my greatest failure as a doctor.” Another pause, taking in another inhale of breath. Her chest swelled, pursing her lips before letting it all out in a rush of air. 

Certainly a better monster, by far. Angela Ziegler didn’t seem like the type to embellish. Mako had seen his share of that frantic madness fringe science produced towards the end of the war, but the ... creature that Angela described didn’t sound like a product of science, to Mako. It sounded like great-grandmother’s stories, as she delved into dying superstitions to keep the spirit of their people alive in the imaginations of children. Mako had drawn some comfort from the good stories, during the purges. It was only once he began his fighting that he saw the gods of men for the myths they most certainly had always been.

Yet, now and again, some half-remembered echo insinuated itself into his present state of mind and he felt the tremble in his bones that he’d felt as he drank in those stories as a little boy. That woman may have been the showy sort of superstitious, but she had died with a sharp, clear mind. She’d had her impact on Mako’s life. He may have abandoned their traditions after the war, but he’d still asked that they name their daughter Kora, after her. They’d never been able to give her a proper funeral. In a very mundane way, that opened a door in his mind through which she might haunt him, now and again.

To hear Angela’s rational tone describe this eater of the dead, who grew strong from feeding his bottomless hunger, evoked Whiro, the imprisoned god of the underworld. The parallel was difficult to shake. Mako wanted to dismiss the concept of this thing, as he had so many Junker tall-tales. He could not. What she spoke was surely the truth, or she believed it so. And this was not a woman easily duped. This Reaper must certainly be real. Such a creature ... if Mako lived under the specter of this threat, would he, could he feel any different than she did?

**_‘I taria koutou ki te tari a Whiro.’_ ** **_You are ensnared in Whiro’s noose._ **

"Do not worry yourself too much for my sake, Mako." Her body language relaxed-- as if she had said all she needed to say. Relief was there-- and hope, perhaps. “As for more help…” She mused, that mirthful hint in her tone was trickling through along with a smirk. “I certainly wouldn’t turn down a coffee date with a certain someone.” Perhaps she was trying to make light of the subject, to joke away the solemness of the conversation. She didn’t want to think about the possibility-- the probability that Angelo was dead, already. She didn’t want to think about the possibility-- the probability-- that she would see his ghostly hands reaching to her in addition to the many, many others in her recurring nightmares. 

She remembered every person who had died under her supervision. Patients, staff, friends-- Family, if one felt poetic.

“Let me guess. You take your coffee… With more sugar than cream, mm? Perhaps flavoring… Caramel? You seem like a man who enjoys sweet things.” She mused, ignoring her intrusive thoughts with that little smirk.

Angela’s teasing little flirtation felt so inappropriate, so sudden, especially in the midst of Mako’s wandering thoughts that it coaxed a great belly laugh out of him. He threw his head back, the bushy tuft of his topknot brushing the ceiling of the cab. What had he to worry about this woman, who could go from such a terrifying subject to teasing the likes of him. He laughed until his face was pink and his eyes watered. It was a gruff, growling sound, but without the hollow resonance of his mask, it did sound far more human.

Mako’s laughter only continued as she teased him further about coffee. ” **_Sure._ ** ” He snorted, smirking in her direction. ” **_All those coffee shops in the Wasteland_ ** .” He wiped at his eyes, the smirk blooming into a helpless grin. ” **_I drink it with rum and a lil’ lard._ ** ” He stated, when his laughter had subsided, at last. ” **_Coconut rum, if I can find it._ ** ” There came, then, a gleam to his eyes. ” **_Seein’ as how I am a man who enjoys sweet things._ ** ” Though he did not speak the words, he didn’t have much of a poker face. It suggested he couldn’t think of a sweeter thing he wanted to enjoy more than  _ her. _

He couldn’t help himself. The only other person in the past twenty years who’d been so comfortable with him was Bruce, and they’d fought in the war. This one night’s little skirmish shouldn’t have been enough. He’d spent the past months looking over Angela, but she’d only  _ met  _ him tonight. And that was enough for her to be so completely at ease with him. The great engine of his massive heart puttered appreciatively with the way she interacted with him with so little restraint.   
The medic almost gave a sigh of relief that her little change in subject worked, and that he took her flirting so well. At his laugh, she couldn’t help but give her own little burst of laughter; more a giggle, the little GPS’s beep at another kilometer passed almost ignored. “No, no. No need for a coffeeshop, wasteland or not. There is a perfectly good coffee maker at the clinic, and my staff are in their beds after nightfall.” She mused, the clinics a self-sufficient little living space. The first floor was a waiting area, a side office that Angela had taken over, three exam rooms, and one emergency room that was used for surgeries, births, and traumatic injuries. Upstairs were the medics’ living quarters— where they stored most of their supplies after their storehouse outside had been raided. Luckily it had only been gauze and other basic, non-perishable supplies that had been taken. They exchanged their war-stories, flirted, laughed, removing each other from the grim reality of their present circumstances for just a little while. Mako was taken entirely off-guard by the way she drew him so close. 

“I think I have a tiny bit of rum stashed away. I try not to drink too much. But we also have cream, sugar, and even some vanilla on hand.” She tilted her head as she thought about what the clinic had at their disposal. “It isn’t very good coffee; simply the instant kind, but it is  _ caffeine. _ ”

Of course, this would all hinge on her intern’s safety. If he perished in this ordeal, Angela doubted she’d let any of her staff leave the safety of the clinic, afterward. Perhaps she would simply demand more protection from the Wardens. Or perhaps her staff would wish to leave for their own sakes. Her mirth-filled face grew almost solemn after a second, taking a deep breath, betraying her worry. She was warm, welcoming. They both knew the true context of what brought them together, but their adolescent interlude allowed them to focus on something else. It couldn’t last. It didn’t. Mako knew, sooner or later, she’d remember the stakes that brought her out into God’s forgotten country, and when her attention returned to it, in full, he made that shift seamlessly with her. Drawing the edges of her lips into her mouth as she thought, absentmindedly dragging her teeth along them in an almost bite. A nervous tic, one of her many. 

“ _ Mako _ ...” she took another deep breath in, sparing a glance to her companion, her voice light and almost a surrendering tone. It was clear she had several solemn questions, the medic sitting up straight. “...You know this place... far better than I ever could. What are the chances of Angelo’s survival in this?”

” **_Trained medic. Equipment. Leverage. Hostage. Too useful to kill ‘im. The badge?_ ** ” Mako gestured to it where it was safely tucked into her shirt’s breastpocket. ” **_Don’t think it was him. Probably one of them, stashing it, so they can get at the drugs, themselves. We like drugs, out here._ ** ” There was a thoughtful pause, then, Mako rubbing at his jaw. It was nice to be able to touch his face like this, like a normal man, though he’d need to get that mask back on, and soon. Even at night, the grit in the air and the dryness of it would irritate him further.

” **_When you make your move, they’ll put him between them and you. Lost a lot of people. Smoke clan’ll want to just survive, now. I know the Boss Smoke. Started the clan. Sniper for the rebels. Drugs, weapons, cars? All new for Smoke. Boss Smoke, he’s makin’ his move against the new Royal in Junkertown. If he don’t got somethin’ to show for all these losses, they’ll take him out. Gonna be desperate. His boys’ll want to live, but not a lot of loyalty. Kidnappers, hitmen, not a lot of love in there. He kills Angelo, he kills leverage on you. They might kill him for that. Tough for Boss Smoke. Tricky for you._ ** ” After a moment, with a grunt, Mako replaced his mask, clearing his throat. All that water helped, some, but it wouldn’t keep him hydrated much longer without the mask.

” **_You go in bargainin’, it’ll look like weakness. Go in hard. They won’t want to shoot you on sight. Won’t get shit, if they do._ ** ” Another pause. Mako looked over to her. ” **_Smoke don’t know you got me with you. You look alone. An’ you’re beautiful. You saw how that made ‘em stupid in that first fight of yours. It’ll make ‘em show their hand, make ‘em overconfident. We can use that._ ** ”

The medic mulled over his thought process, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She was glad her initial gut feeling had been right— that these people couldn’t afford to kill one of the medics unless it really came down to it. Though that sinking in her stomach knew that it would likely come down to it. She would indeed have to tread carefully. The woman was a tactician, weighing their options as she bit at the inside of her cheek. “I doubt a textbook subtle approach will work.” She mused, thinking back on how she had attempted to talk her way through things, at first. Her negotiating had fallen on deaf ears, and it had been then that she had acted. Had it not been for Mako, however, she likely would have ended up no better than Angelo. She doubted that this Smoke gang were especially kind to their hostages. Groups such as that never were. 

Angelo likely would have been tortured for information— though the boy was just as stubborn as the rest of them. She had to trust in that to buy them time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was here that our roleplay unfortunately came to a halt-- and it is uncertain on if or when he'll get his muse back. Thanks for reading thusfar, folks!


	9. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach our climax.

**“They’ll be watchin’ any vehicle on th’ ‘proach. Best I hide in th’back.”** At that, Mako thumbed back to the pile of the upholstery in the back area that he’d torn up prior to their little Sunday drive.  **“It’ll be a decent hideout. Good angles. Snipers up top. You go in, hold their attention.”** He tilted his head up slightly, as if gesturing ahead and up. 

“And if my little parlor tricks don’t do it for them this time?” She asked, cocking a brow in his direction. The GPS gave another little  _ ding  _ as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. They were nearing their destination, now. Just a few more kilometers. 

Mako was quiet for a moment— thinking, but expressionless from the mask he’d donned once again.  **“I’m sure they will. You’ll think of somethin’, Doc.”** He pat her shoulder gently with his large, warm hand. In that moment she almost felt as though she were touch-starved— the simple gesture of comfort sending a jolt through her. The anxiety ate at her, and for a moment she wanted to stop. She wanted to stop, to have that last little anxious meltdown, but she couldn’t. She had to remember her training from all those years ago. 

She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, trying to ignore the sinking anxiety and tightness in her gut, before he pulled the lever at the side of his seat and sent the backrest back, rolling and clamoring to fit into the back of the humvee without breaking something. It was a several minute process, one that made the vehicle sway a bit by his weight shifting around, but as he settled in and quieted, she didn’t even notice him in the chaos that the backseat had become. There was torn upholstery, bits of spring and scrap metal, and god-knew-what-else. But as he sat still, she could feel she was being watched— the man alert and watching her in the rear view mirror. She lost herself in her invasive thoughts for a long few more deafeningly silent minutes, before she finally spoke up with a sharp intake of breath. “You’ll back me up if things go south, right? My intern is my top priority and—“ her tone was nervous, as though she doubted herself more than she doubted him. 

**“I’m here. ‘Came this far.”** His voice was muffled, even more so than usual from his mask and how he was hidden. Though the mass didn’t move— he was perfectly still, even as the buildings came into view in the headlights. 

It certainly was a junker setup on an old house, and a barn. Scrap wood formed the frame, supported by what looked to be rather fortified metal to cover most of it in tactical-looking places. There was an old windmill turbine that creaked loudly with the dusty breeze, the sound from high above the house. A large barn that seemed to be made out of patched metal and bits of wood.  A few vehicles parked in the front. A couple of bikes, a truck, and an absence of life that Angela now knew better than to trust. 

“Give me ten minutes. Then do your thing.” She whispered into the silent vehicle, reaching back to pull her bag back onto her shoulder, and stepped out— the humvee still running as she meandered into the beams of her headlights. Perhaps the waste of fuel would anger them enough.

She stepped slowly, though not particularly quietly, her boots grinding into the dirt as she walked with almost a  _ crunch  _ with each footfall. 

She looked about, eyes open wide and brows furrowed in determination in the low lighting. Moments ticked by, and she felt her anger growing with each second that did. Smoke clan liked to  _ hide  _ like little snails in their shells. A valid tactic, indeed— but Angela Ziegler was no longer in the mood. 

Her lungs filled with air as she took a deep breath in. 

“Enough of your games, boys and girls! You all know why I am here. Now, come out before I burn this place down!” Her voice twisted into a threat, despite it’s sweet lilt. Though the fear in her gut made her voice crack, her pistol unholstered as she fired a molten shot into an exposed nearby wooden beam— the tinder-like lumber sparking to life and burning like red-hot coals with the heat given to it. One more shot, and the wood ignited— the yellow flame beginning to grow on the beam supporting an old fence post— a warning. 

“You have  _ ten  _ seconds to return my intern to me, or next time, it’s your little  _ house. We come back for our own, where I’m from.”  _

_ I hope that was convincing enough, for you, Mako.  _ She thought, fighting the urge to look back to the humvee. 

_ “Tell me, how’s a shiela like you end up in a place like this?”  _ A voice called out from the darkness— and Angela’s heart grew cold and dropped in her chest as the fear truly began to set in. Her eyestraced the voice up to the top of the old windturbine. “ _ You team up with Mako fuckin’ Rutledge for some kid, and now he ain’t even here? What’d’ya do?  _ **_Kill’im_ ** _ with that little lava-gun ‘a’ yers? The  _ **_fuck_ ** _ is‘e?”  _

Perhaps she simply hesitated too long. She stood, unmoving, staring up at the outline of the man on the wind turbine. She could make out the glint of a knife in his hand, but not much else. This must have been the boss. She tried to think of a response, but came up with absolutely nothing in her spur-of-the-moment improv. Her anger mixed with her fear, but it seemed that her silence had been taken another way. 

“Nothin’s movin’ in the truck!” Another voice called out— from the upper floors of the farmhouse. Mako was right— snipers were present. 

She found her voice again as her pistol was trained at the figure above. “Where is my intern!? What did you do to him!?” She called out, trying to keep herself on a one track mind. She was most certainly outnumbered and outgunned. She couldn’t see the scale of their numbers— and that was strategically on purpose. 

But Mako’s words, that there was no loyalty among these people, was something she had to hold onto. Something to go off of. 

“Where is the boy I let go earlier?” Her voice still rung out loud enough to be a command. 

“Ah, lil’ Jeremy? He’s ‘round here somewhere, skulkin’ like a rat.” The shape called out again. Almost as though he simply didn’t care. Though as he continued, his tone changed— became darker, and took on a more commanding line. “Looks like you didn’t bring the goods we so  _ politely  _ asked for.” There was a clicking sound— someone clicking their tongue, and she could only assume he shook his head. 

“Now, fer yer boy, i’d’ve taken what I asked for. Little Jeremy says you gotta nice little magic trick. G’won, show the class and you  _ might  _ have my attention.” 

She paused— narrowing her eyes up at him. “I’ll-I’ll need a volunteer. Why don’t you come down off your tower?” 

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, Sheila.” He laughed, raising his arm as a couple of dingey floodlights sparked to life around the ‘yard.’ It had all been patched up and reinforced more than once— the large barn to her left looming over everything but the turbine. She saw the snipers in the windows and the men standing by— at least a dozen of them all around. But she didn’t focus on any of them— there was a boy sitting in a chair underneath the old turbine— bound and gagged, eyes wide and a stream of blood going down his olive-toned face from a gash at his temple. 

“ _ Angelo! _ ” The medic whispered, her stomach dropping into her feet as she took a few instinctual steps forward. 

Though as she did so, the bound medic shook his head back and forth frantically— and a chain around his neck rattled and clanked all the way up the turbine height. 

“Out here, we like the simple things. Yer boy’s connected ta me, up here. If I just so happen to lose my footin’, he’ll be hung like mistletoe ‘n’ Christmas.” The man laughed— the medics simply staring at one another, Angela desperately trying to think of a solution. To prove his point, the chain tightened and strained as he pulled up on it lightly— earning a terrified whine from Angelo as Angela was forced to do nothing but watch. The younger medic’s neck craned, and before the air could be completely cut off, the chain was loosened, both of the medics breathing a haggard sigh of relief. 

“What do you want from me!? My people have done nothing but help the people here in need. We have done nothing to deserve this!” Angela spun on her heel to address the group, backing away from Angelo to stare up at the figure on the turbine again. 

“You outsiders’re all the same! Ya come in, thinkin’ yer these angels n martyrs fer yer causes. We had a good business runnin, here! Smoke was good at killin. Good work killin fer  _ profit.  _ Drugs were lucrative! Guns, fightin’ turf wars. We were gonna take on the new royal in Junkertown! But then  _ you _ came along. Disrupted the  _ economy  _ we worked  _ so hard to build.”  _

As he spoke, Angela felt no remorse. She stood tall, her pistol in her hand, fingers shaking ever so slightly from where she gripped it at her side. But her face was blank— shoulders squared and she felt every pair of eyes in the vicinity on her. 

“So we wanted ya ta pay back whatcha owe for  _ fuckin’  _ up our system, girlie.” The man shrugged, black-stained teeth a sick grin across his face. “Buuuuuut, looks like ya can’t pay, can’ya? Was that magic trick all a lie, Jeremy? The fuck are ya, ya little  _ bastard— _ ” 

“It isn’t a lie!” Angela’s and the boy’s voice cried out together— and after a second Jeremy himself was shoved from the darkness of the barn, stumbling outside and in front of Angela. He crumpled to his knees— exhausted, and as he frantically looked up to her, completely and utterly terrified.

The hate that she’d felt for the boy before evaporated in a single moment. She felt regret for mistreating him so— and her gut tightened painfully as she swam in her guilt. 

“Well if it ain’t a lie, prove you got yer  _ magic, _ then. ‘ _ Gift from God,’  _ h’sed. I wanna see what all the fuckin’ fuss is about!” The leader spoke again, and Angela bit her lip. 

She looked down to the pistol in her hand, and pointed it toward the shaking boy on the ground. 

“Please— please don’t kill me, I did--I did--“ 

Mako’s explanation of the boy’s situation now returned to her mind. She now had an understanding on how this ‘social system’ worked. If she  _ didn’t, _ these people would. 

Her voice lowered enough to be barely audible to anyone not within 5 feet of the pair. “I’m not going to kill you. But this will hurt.  _ I’m sorry, Jeremy. _ ” She didn’t kill good people, she wanted to add. 

But then she pulled the trigger. 

The boy’s screams of agony were instant— the molten shot embedding into his shoulder and scorching through his torn clothes. His voice cracked from the strain, and the smell of burning flesh was never pleasant on her nose. Jeremy fell back and rolled into the dirt, clutching at the smoldering wound and contorting his body as he writhed in pain. His cries were the only noise in the area, the gang around them dead silent as they watched. 

They knew that with a wound like that, it’d be infected and deadly within three days time. He’d lose his arm, at best. 

It took only a moment— reaching to her back, the staff came from it’s strap. A spin over her head, and it unfolded— a moment to boot up, and emit a bright golden glow, just as before. A flourish, a spin of the staff, and she brought it down— waving her hand over the override and pointing it at the poor boy on the ground. All without moving her feet, all with the poise of any corseted maiden from some older time.

Just as before, the beam sparked to life-- ‘remembering’ the boy’s biosignature from earlier in the night. It latched onto him, little tendrils of light enveloping the scorched wound and after a few seconds, his cries subsided, the wound healed closed, and soon enough, he laid quietly and breathless from the ordeal. Pale, sweaty, and shaking, he glared at her.

She even holstered her staff, offering a hand to help him up-- her eyes filled with compassion and pity for the boy in the dirt. Her lips pulled into a guilty frown, brows furrowed, a silent  _ ’i’m sorry.’ _

He looked at her for a moment, his expression almost as though he  _ wanted  _ to hate her. His brows furrowed at her pleading look— a silent conversation between the two for a second. Though, he seemed to relent-- exposing his black-stained teeth with a grimace as he gripped her hand with his, pulling himself up to his feet and soon towering over her, stepping aside as she gave an affirmative nod. 

She waited for anyone to shout anything out as Jeremy sulked off— darting into the house and disappearing. But it was silent, and as Angela looked up to the top of the windmill, she felt the eyes boring into her again. 

And then he appeared. Dirty boots came over the edge of the turbine as he sat within her sight— a bearded face peering down with a black-stained grin as he leaned on his knees. He was hooded, his jacket patched and tattered in places and patched in others. But yet, he gave off an aire of authority as he looked down to her. 

“Tell ya what,  _ sweetheart. _ ” He finally spoke, mirth in his gravelly voice, looking around at the men hat surrounded her. “You work for us, yer boy goes free. Give us the tech and we might give you a chance, ye, fellas?” He called around, a few dark chuckles and whispers echoing around her. “Been a while since we had a real doctorin’ type, yannow. Good with ‘er  _ hands.”  _

Her lip curled in disgust as the laughter around her grew in volume just slightly. She looked back to Angelo, his wide eyes filled with tears as he shook his head slowly at her. He knew what the man meant and so did she. She took a deep breath in at his reaction, and it was another silent conversation between the two. Her resolve was failing— her desperation to ensure his safety outweighing how Mako had insisted she act. 

“I’ll—!” She started, before a thunderous shot rang out, followed by a loud  _ pang!  _ Of a bullet hitting metal. Scraps descended from above Angelo and the medics both flinched. The simple pulley system that connected Angelo to his captor destroyed. 

“Doc!  _ Now! _ ” The voice cracked and broke— the pubescent tone most definitely Jeremy. He waved to her from the upper floor of the house— the sniper rifle in his other hand. 

Angela didn’t hesitate. The medic raised her pistol, unloading a couple rounds up at the chief. One of the shots hit the turbine, another flew past him. But the last four splashed about on the man’s body as he frantically stood up. One hit his arm, another his chest, another his leg and finally his face. He stumbled about in agony, gripping at his flesh, letting out a loud moan and scream before he finally lost his footing. 

It only took a matter of seconds for the first shot to ring out and for the leader of the Smoke Clan to crumple to the ground dead, singed and marred almost beyond recognition. But not before the clan had their dues— Angela stumbled back as a shot caught her in the chest, another in her side. Each of the bullets hit her feeling as though she just got hit by a truck-- twice. 

Another shot rang out behind them as the situation turned into an all out firefight— Mako had leapt from the truck and opened fire behind them as they closed in on the medic— the behemoth yet again a knight in shining armor. 

Angela heaved herself forward, stumbling and collapsing in front of Angelo just enough to pull him free of the tangled chains that held him to the old rickety chair. Breathing seemed near-impossible, as though she’d been kicked by a pro-football player and left in the dust. 

_ “Doctor Ziegler!” _ He called out as she gasped for air, his voice cracked from the dry air. Already her internal nanite technology working to push the foreign objects out of the wounds he applied pressure to. 

“Are you alright,  _ schatz?”  _ Her affectionate little pet name came out without her realizing, and a cough racked her chest as her intern’s arms care around her body. A spatter of blood shot from her mouth as she doubled over, the two ignoring the chaos of the murderous hell that transpired around them. 

“I’m alive,  _ ma’am,  _ I can walk." __ Angelo knew his combat training, despite his battered body, picking up Angela’s pistol and providing covering fire to Mako and their makeshift-sniper friend. 

Angela looked about as the chaos ensued. The pair of little medics had almost been forgotten— the larger threat the one utilizing his large shrapnel gun and his hook and chain to his advantage. Her gaze turned to the flash of light from the sniper rifle of Jeremy upstairs— and then to Angelo’s shaking form next to her. His arms were covered with singes and cuts— obvious torture tactics. 

Another bout of coughing shook her as she struggled for air. The bullet in her chest nicked her lung, and the pain and difficulty breathing she felt could suggest that it might have collapsed. And as Angelo turned around again to look at her as she grew lightheaded, he knew, as well. If she lost consciousness, there was a very real possibility that she could die-- if she were a normal person, like he was. Nevertheless, he feared-- he hadn’t seen her nanite technology in action. 

The firefight lasted several minutes-- the little medics largely forgotten in the dirt. Before she knew it, time had passed-- the medic cursing under her breath and focusing on if her nanites were doing their job--and Mako’s form loomed over her and Angelo, much to the intern’s dismay. His form blocked out the light, but she could see the bullet holes in his body from where he’d been hit in the fight. Yet he moved as if they didn’t bother him. As she looked up to him, she smiled, feeling him look down at her, she could feel the worry. As Angelo began to protest, Angela’s blood-covered hand found his shoulder. 

**“Y’kay, Doc?”** She could hear the worry, there, the man coiling up the chain around his fist and elbow before tucking it away as he knelt down to the medics’ level. He knew what she was able to do. They were alike, in that way. 

“It is alright, Angelo. Mako is with me.” She sputtered quietly, breathless as she looked down to her chest. “He brought me here. Please, help him with the staff.” Her fingers peeled back the fabric of her sweater, peering at the wounds she had to work with. 

“Come on, Doctor Ziegler, we have to get you back to the clinic. Don’t  be stubborn--” Angelo protested in her direction, then, giving a nod to Mako before her tired fingers gripped the piece of metal of the bullet from the wound in her chest. Her nanites were working-- and already she was finding it easier to breathe. A hiss and a little yelp and she yanked the bullet from her flesh-- throwing the thing into the dirt with an almost relieved huff. Another sputtering cough, and she pushed at the one that entered her side, shooing Angelo’s hands away, giving that bit of metal the same treatment as it was pushed from the hole it’d made in her. Angelo begrudgingly took the staff from Angela’s back, unfolded it and less gracefully began to help Mako with his wounds. 

“Doctor Ziegler?” A pubescent, cracking voice spoke up, the three turning and looking at Jeremy who approached them cautiously, his gun strapped to his back and his dirty, now-blood-covered palms facing out. “That-- That’s yer name, right?” 

She took a moment to find her bearings as the wounds began to shut themselves, blinking hard, but she stood, retrieving her gun from Angelo’s pointing hands and holstering it at her hip. “Yes, that is my name. And yours is Jeremy, yes?” 

“Y-yeah. I--” 

“We are not going to kill you.” She blurted out, wiping her face on her sleeve, feeling the blood smear off and away into the dark fabric of her sweater. 

**“Mmh.”** Mako agreed, and Angela smiled up at the man. 

“--I dun’ have anywhere else t’go, now, Miss Ziegler.” The boy fidgeted. His hands wrung together and his gaze fell. 

Angela thought of the kids back in Switzerland, the young ones who had lost too much too soon, just like her. Angelo’s and Mako’s eyes fell on her, and she stood quietly in thought. 

“No--No one’s ever helped me like you did. No one ever helped me without askin’ for nothin’ n return.” He continued, looking up to her from where he stood a few paces away. At that, her heart waned. 

“How old are you, Jeremy?” She asked, her voice rather quiet as she moved to stand in front of him. 

“Fifteen, ma’am. Sixteen ‘fore th’year’s done.” He nodded, and she cocked a brow at him. They certainly did grow them all big, out here. The boy stood at six-foot-two. “--But I can handle a gun. I can protect yer clinic, I can--”   
“You could have died turning on your gang like that, you know. It was reckless, what you did.” She scolded, her tone one almost like a fretting mother’s as she turned on her heel. “Come now, let’s go home, boys.  _ All of you. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was ghostwritten by myself to finish up the old thread between that friend of mine and me. Please, enjoy. There may be an epilogue in the works. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> T/N: 
> 
> "Jawohl, Jawohl" = "Of course, of course."  
> "Natürlich" = "Naturally"


End file.
